In over my head: A HellblazerBuffy crossover
by Random1
Summary: Constantine goes to Sunnydale to get some help from an old friend... Rating for violence, swearing and slightly slashy overtones. Final chapter now up!
1. Chapter 1

A Hellblazer/ Buffy Crossover, from John Constantine's POV.

Disclaimer: Constantine belongs mostly to Vertigo. Buffy etc belong to Joss and other people. But really of course they belong to themselves. I'm not going to make them do anything they don't have a tendency to do anyway...

Author's notes: I thought I'd better point out when in the time-frame of Buffy and Hellblazer this story is set. In the Buffy timeline, this is set mid season four, when Spike was pretty newly chipped, and obviously before Ethan was put in prison... in fact, almost immediately before the episode where Ethan turns Giles into a demon. In the Hellblazer timeline, this takes place after the graphic novel Damnation's Flame and before Hard Times and Good Intentions.

Thanks to AngelHair and Beloved for filling in random plot holes and for random bits of almost-beta-ing.

* * *

**In Over My Head**

* * *

I don't know what I'm doing. I'm way over my head this time. I've said that before, haven't I? You probably don't believe me.

But it's true...

I'm dead.

I've pissed off one bastard to many... again, and I've called in every favour anyone's ever owed me. Christ. I even owe Chaz one. Let's re-phrase that._I_owe_Chaz_****one. It's not _even_funny. They're after me, and I don't know what I'm going to do...

I don't even know what _they_are. I've got a pretty good idea who sent them, though... I don't know what loophole it is they've found, but I've got a bad feeling about this. Christ, I sound like something out of a low budget horror movie. I _feel _like something out of a low budget horror movie. They're after me, they're coming to _get _me, and I don't have any options left.

I'm dead...

Christ, I don't want to die. Hell's waiting for me. With baited breath. I can almost see them, sitting there and _drooling. _

And of course, the ghosts will be waiting too...

I was trying to work out what to do, trying to work out who I could go to for help. I mean, Christ, that's a bloody joke, ennit?_Me, _asking for help. But like I said, I'm in over my head this time, and I was getting desperate.

So I went through the list in my head. People who I can... people who might... oh fuck it, the word I'm looking for is _friends. _And... it wasn't a pretty thought.

_Brendan Finn. _Irishman. Drunkard. And also dead.

_Gary Leicester. _Heroin addict. Occult dabbler. And also _dead. _Dead... because of me.

_Ray Mond. _Gay bookshop owner. Camp as Christmas. And also _dead, _because of _me_.

_Davie._Rough sleeper. Tottenham Court Road bumboy. And also _dead because of me_.

_Emma_ Artist. Ex-lover. And also... no wait, you've guessed it... _dead._ Because of_ yours truly_

And it's after that that you get to the really sordid bit...

Kit. I don't even know where to find her. And I couldn't... just couldn't drag her into this.

It wouldn't be _fair. _Christ, that's beside the point. _I don't want her to die. _And that's all that finding her would achieve. Leave the girl out of it.

Oh Christ, Kit. Kit... miss you. Wouldn't want to... to go to hell... without saying goodbye...

Stop it you sad old bastard. That's not going to help anyone.

So anyway, you see why the ghosts have come out to play...

It was the early hours of the morning, and I was seriously beginning to consider asking Chaz if he fancied helping me with some death defying demon exorcism, (a cosy night in with Chaz, fun... _not_), when I remembered... there _was_someone else. For a moment I almost danced around the room... there_was_hope. Not a light at the end of the tunnel as such, but a bloke with a cigarette lighter half way along it, who's willing spark you up and point out the right general direction.

And _then_I started to worry. Does he even remember me? Fuck that, that's not a problem, I can always remind him. No, the _actual _question that's bugging me (ignoring the practicalities about plane fares) is _has he forgiven me yet_?

I get the air fare of Chaz, of course. How else? He taxis me across London to Heathrow airport, and I don't say a word all the way. When he drops me off, I think about telling him that this is it, that I've pissed off one bastard too many and... but he's heard the entire spiel too many times before. He wouldn't believe me.

So. This is goodbye. No soppy note left in the back of your cab, mate. No final confessions or gifts of obscure occult stuff that's going to make your fortune for you. Just another trip through the commuter traffic around Heathrow airport on a grey Tuesday evening. Typical Constantine style. I'd laugh if it wasn't so tragic. I'd cry if I did that sort of thing. As it is, I turn up the collar of my trench coat, light a cigarette, and don't look back...

...because I honestly think that someone... or, or _something _is following me. I hope against all hopes that it's just me being paranoid, but ... there are _things _in the shadows. Christ, I hope Ripper knows what he's doing. I stare at the passengers on the aeroplane until they're all afraid to meet my eyes. It doesn't help. Any of them or all of them could be...

Could be what? Could be demons? Could be people with grudges against John Constantine? Could be out to get me?

Yes. It's true. Any of them could be. Probably none of them are.

On the other hand, this is_me _we're talking about. And I... And they... And they're coming to_get_me.

I hate aeroplanes.

The flight is to Los Angeles. City of Angels. Ha ha bloody ha. I think... I bloody hope... that Ripper lives in the suburbs here somewhere. I haven't got a clue how I'm going to find him. Fuck it, I don't even remember his real name...

Only thing I've got to go on is that I think I remember someone mentioning once that there's a hellmouth around here somewhere. And if there _is_one, then that's where Ripper'll be. Drawn in. Just like the demons.

And me too. I should be drawn to the hellmouth. I mean, hell, demon blood aside I'm just the sort of stupid, fucked up, demon summoning, heaven hating _bastard _who can't resist the pull of a good hellmouth and just one more opportunity to be fucked over. Ripper too, although I bet he doesn't see it like that.

I wonder if he's grown up at all. That's a mean little thought, but... my god, he hasn't been at college for over two decades. He'll have changed some...

Christ, what if he's given up black magic?

No. He hasn't. You know that. No one ever does. Of course, he could always be dead, but whilst he still has breath in his body, he'll be a hellblazer. And so will I.

* * *

Oh bloody hell, it's called _Sunnydale. _How sick-makingly American can you get.

Trust Americans. I mean, not only do they build a fucking town on the site of the biggest hellmouth in the Western hemisphere, they then go ahead and call it _Sunnydale! _I mean, that's just _asking _for trouble.

There really is something following me.

I walk a little faster, because now I can hear footsteps. The worst thing is that every time I glance back over my shoulder, there's nothing there. But I can hear breathing...

Fuck...

Something's wrong. Something's very wrong. Fear is rising in me, not the rational, calm panic of the past few hours, but an animal, instinctive terror. My skin's crawling, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I can smell magic in the air. I fold my arms across my chest and try to keep walking, but it's getting harder to move, getting harder to breathe, as if the air is suddenly fighting against me. My vision's going dim too. I gasp for breath, as if I've been running.

Fuck... Jesus Christ... oh _fuck_...

Suddenly, without warning, my legs give way and I'm cowering on the floor. I throw my hands up to protect my face. Something's... something's wrong... with the _air_. It's crackling with electricity. My skin's burning. Can't breath... I force myself to look up and there's _nothing there_. This _can't_just be my mind playing tricks with me... can it? Maybe I'm going mad. Wouldn't be the first time...

And then I catch sight of something out of the corner of my eye. With some effort, I turn my head, but it's already gone... I try to pull myself to my feet, but it feels like something's holding me down. I make it to my knees, but now there's something moving behind me... Almost involuntarily, my head jerks round... but there's nothing there. I force myself up. There's no point in trying to run away, I can barely put one foot in front of the other. I'm shaking uncontrollably, and it's so hard to breath that my lungs are starting to burn...

It's behind me. I spin round, and almost overbalance, but it's gone... No it hasn't! It's there, just outside my vision. I turn again and again, but it's always just out of sight.

'Come on, you bastard! Stop playing games!' I hear myself shout, my voice sounding slightly hysterical. I don't expect any acknowledgement... but something hits me hard in the stomach, and I go sprawling to the floor.

_All right then... no more games... _

I hear the words although no one has said them. And then the blows begin to rain down on me. I curl up, trying to make myself as small a target as possible, but invisible hands grip my collar, and I am dragged to my feet. Instinctively, I fling up my arms to protect my face... something slams into my chest, and I'm sent flying through the air. I manage a strangled cry of mingled pain, fear and disbelief, and then the world goes dark around the edges as I come crashing through a window, sending glass flying, and hit my head hard. There is a stunned silence, and then people begin to scream. I cling to consciousness by the fingernails...

Suddenly someone shouts out across the crowded room: 'Everybody STOP PANICKING!' Silence falls again.

Someone is bending over me. I open my eyes. It's a girl. Pretty and blond. Strong too. And there's something about her... I can feel occult powers which I don't quite recognise running through her blood.

And then I realise who she must be. Pretty, strong girl with occult power in her blood, this close to the hellmouth. I manage a smile of relief; with any luck, she'll be able to help me.

'_Slayer_...' I whisper. And then I black out.


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly, I come to. It's the oldest cliché in the book, but _I don't know where I am_... There isn't a single part of my body that doesn't hurt. I can't move my hands. I don't think I want to open my eyes, partly because my head's spinning, but partly because I've got this god awful suspicion I'm tied to a chair.

I try to concentrate. I can hear the girl - the Slayer - talking, but I can't focus on what she's saying. Then I catch the words '...demon blood...' and I groan out loud. Bloody hell, I _am_ tied to a chair. My hands are tied painfully behind my back, and the ropes are cutting into my wrists. I suppose I should be thankful that she didn't just stake me while I was unconscious. She must think I'm not human. She thinks I'm dangerous... well I can't argue with that... but she probably thinks I don't have a soul.

'I think he's waking up...' she says. I force my eyes open, and stare around the room... I can see a stage, and a sound system... Jesus Christ, I think it's a club! I almost laugh at the irony of it, but my chest screams in pain, and I groan instead.

'Slayer...' I whisper. She scowls at me. 'I'm Constantine. John Constantine,' I say desperately hoping she's heard of me, but she stares at me blankly. 'I need your help!' I say quickly.

'My help?' she says incredulously. 'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just stake you!'

'_Because I'm too young to die..._' I almost quip, but I take one look at her deadly serious face, and decide against it. I don't think she'd appreciate humour right now.

'I'm _not_ a demon,' I say fiercely. She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. 'I've got demon's blood fucking around in my system. It's a long story, all right?' She looks at me suspiciously.

'Look, I need your help...' I plead. 'Something's after me.'

'Which is why you came crashing in though the skylight of the Bronze...'

'Yes! No!' Jesus Christ, I'm making a mess of things... 'I was attacked! I was thrown through the skylight...'

'You're lying. There was no one there!'

I take a deep breath. 'Not by a someone. By a some_thing_. And... it was invisible.'

She's silent for a moment. I think she wants to believe me. But Slayers aren't the most naturally trusting people, and I don't exactly inspire confidence. Christ, my arm's killing me. I suddenly realise the ropes are soaked with blood...

'Slayer...' I say, my voice tight with pain.

'What is it?' she asks, although not as impatiently as she might have.

'Please... untie my arms. I'm bleeding...'

'He is, Buffy,' someone says. I look up at the speaker – a red haired girl – and grimace my thanks. Then I look down at the floor, where blood is beginning to pool at my feet.

Suddenly, the Slayer – Buffy – grips my shoulder and looks into my eyes.

'Can I trust you?' she asks quietly. 'I need to know if I can trust you...'

'I... I don't know...' I answer hesitantly. She smiles

'At least you're honest,' she says. She kneels down next to me, and quickly but gently drags free the ropes. I catch my breath, and then grip my hand to my chest.

There's a long, jagged gash in my arm and it's bleeding like hell.

'You're a mess!' the Slayer says cheerfully. 'We'd better get that sorted...'

'Not the hospital...' I murmur. 'Too many... awkward... questions...'

'I know the feeling,' she says, almost sympathetically. 'All right then, I'll take you to Giles and...'

Hang on a second... Giles? The name sound familiar. God, could that be... was that his name?

'Giles?' I say 'Giles as in... Ripper?'

Buffy _stares _at me.

* * *

'Bloody hell! It can't be... Constantine?

I stagger against his doorframe. I bet he's wondering if I'm drunk. Jesus Christ, he looks _old_. His hair's beginning to grey, and he's wearing _tweed_. I mean, I probably don't look too hot myself right now... but _tweed_! That really is pushing the limit.

And he's a Watcher. That's hard to take as well. Ripper never liked authority, or destiny... as a Watcher, he must be up to his eyeballs in both. In a way, I'm disappointed in him. The Watcher's council stands for everything we both used to hate: for faceless bureaucracy; for corruption; for all the power seeking, authoritarian bastards who tried to get one over on us. I can't imagine him working for them, taking orders from them. Not him. Not Ripper the rebel...

'Hey Giles!' Buffy says. Her accent is already beginning to get on my nerves, and I've only been in the country a few hours.

'Buffy... what... where did you... I mean... Constantine?' says Ripper. I smile weakly at him.

'He came crashing through the skylight at the Bronze. He said he was a friend of yours, so I brought him to you...'

'Friend!' says Ripper disdainfully. 'Constantine, what are you playing at?'

'Nothing! I mean...' I stare at my feet. 'Look, I need your help...'

'Why am I unsurprised?' Ripper says with a sigh.

'There's something _following_ me. I was attacked... beaten up... by something invisible. I need your help. I don't have anyone else left to turn to...'

Ripper looks me up and down. I can tell I really am in a state; I'm leaning on the doorway just to stay standing.

'You'd better come in,' Ripper says eventually.

The Slayer grins brightly.

'Well, duty calls! I gotta patrol. I'll leave you guys to it, I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do...' I hear the door slam shut behind her, and then there's silence.

* * *

My head's spinning. I bury my face in my hands and groan. Ripper's unsympathetic.

'Headache?' he asks cheerfully. He's making tea. I'd find that amusing if I wasn't in so much pain. The black eye from where someone – or possibly something – punched me is coming up nicely, and the whole of the right hand side of my body is cut and bruised. The blood's all ready soaked straight through the bandage on my arm… that was the broken glass from the window I smashed. I've twisted an ankle too, and I think the headache's from where my head connected rather too hard with a snooker table.

Ripper comes and puts a cup of tea and a couple of aspirin on the table next to me. I'm pathetically grateful, even for the tea. The tea I had on the aeroplane came in a crappy polystyrene cup with a stupid paper handle that fell off. It leaked and was too hot to hold, and I was jumpy anyway, so I ended up spilling more of it than I drank. Tea should come in mugs… Ripper's given me a cup and saucer which is a right laugh, especially since I've seen the 'Kiss the Librarian' mug he's got hidden in his kitchen. His taste hasn't improved.

It's not like I drink that much tea anyway. I'm John Constantine. I drink beer. I drink whisky. But tea? Tea comes in big, steaming mugs with loads of sugar in for when something terrible's happened to a favourite relative. Or else you drink it at two o'clock in the morning in crappy little cafes when you're too depressed even for whisky… This is such a weird thing to be thinking about, when they'reafter me, and I'm up to my neck in shit I'm probably not going to be able to get out of cos I've pissed off one bastard too many, and I'm already as good as dead, but I'm still selfish enough to drag _another _mate to hell with me.

'Ripper…' I call, almost forgetting that this old hellblazer's gone respectable.

'Bloody hell, Constantine, don't call me that!' he calls angrily from the other room. He's pissed off with me. I don't blame him. I'm probably the last person he wants to see, even socially, let alone crashing through the window of a club with demons hot on my trail, begging him for help, and then coming home to bleed all over his nice clean furniture.

'Sorry. Mr Giles. Rupert. Giles…' It's awful not knowing what to call him, when we used to be so close. Rupert's such a silly name, and I can't call him _Mr…_ I settle for Giles, even though it makes him sound like some kind of butler or chauffeur.

'What _is_ it, Constantine? I don't have time for this!' he snaps, coming into the room with a mug of tea in one hand and a book on the occult in the other. It's not one I recognise. I take a deep breath.

'Look. There's some stuff I haven't told you. I don't know _what _it is that's after me, but I've got a fairly good idea of _why_...'

'You've pissed somebody off, I should imagine.' Ripper – I mean Giles – says, engrossed in the book. He flicks through until he finds the page he's looking for, and then hands it over. It's open at a page on invisible assassins and how to summon them.

I stare at the page blankly. There are hundreds of different types: assassins that never give up, assassins that drive the victim insane first, some that that kill slowly, some that kill instantly, some that want paying, some that needing binding, some that seek justice, some that seek revenge... Any of which could be after me.

And if Giles tries to protect me, if he stands in their way, they'll kill him too. The worst thing - or maybe it's the best thing - is that he knows it, and he still hasn't turned me away. Although it's been years since we knew each other, although he's a different person now – hell, he even has a different name! – he's still willing to risk his life for me. And I'm just selfish enough and desperate enough to let him.

I press my hands against my aching head and close my eyes.

'I don't want to cause you any problems…' I say quietly. He looks up at me suspiciously, and then his expression softens.

'You don't look so good,' he says, suddenly sympathetic. He rests a hand briefly on my shoulder. 'I suggest you get some rest.'

'Thanks, Giles. I really mean it. Thank you. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry...'

He half frowns, and then he half smiles, and although I know he's willing to risk his life for me, I still can't tell if he's forgiven me yet...


	3. Chapter 3

I met Ripper years ago. I remember it so clearly even now...

It was raining. But then it was always bloody raining. I didn't know where I was going or what I was doing. I'd been staying with a mate in Oxford, a college boy, and a right poncy bastard, but a good magician, and with enough money to pay for some of my more expensive occult experiments. A good fellow to know. But the trouble was... well to put it bluntly, we hated each other. He needed my power, and I needed his money... and there's nothing like feeling used to kill a friendship stone dead. So first we'd started drinking, and then we'd started fighting, and then at two o'clock in the morning, he'd chucked me out into the rain. Bastard.

So I had nowhere to go, and nothing to do. No money. No nothing. I turned up my collar, and shook my long, blond, dripping wet hair from my face, and wandered around the dingy Oxford back streets, waiting for the rain to stop, waiting for morning.

I'd ended up in a student area. And I don't mean the colleges, with their grand architecture and air of respectability. I mean cheap houses falling into disrepair cos the students living there can't possibly afford better. I remember trying and failing to light a cigarette, but it was raining too hard, and I was fairly drunk.

And then, suddenly... a tingle down my spine. A change in the texture of the air.

Magic...

I looked around me. Through an upstairs window of one of the grottiest nearby houses, I could see flashes of light. I grinned wickedly to myself. Where there were students playing with magic... I was sure I could blag myself a bed for the night.

I forced the lock and climbed quietly upstairs. I was going to just knock and invite myself in, but pausing on the landing, I caught the words of a spell.

A demon raising spell.

Like I said, I was fairly drunk, and I've always had an evil sense of humour. I tried the door, and they'd left it unlocked, and I just couldn't resist. I crouched in the doorway, waiting for the spell to come to its climax...

And as they finally finished with the formalities and summoned the demon to appear, I bathed myself in ethereal light, and stepped calmly though the door, trench coat swirling in a supernatural wind.

Panic ensued, just as I'd hoped. I leaned against the doorway, in silence, and watched the chaos. It quickly became clear that they hadn't been expecting their little spell to have any effect at all... which in truth, of course, it hadn't; there wasn't much true power in the group. After a while of ineffective pandemonium, someone had the intelligence to blow out the candles, which would have ended the spell and cause the summoned to depart. The room was plunged into darkness. There was some more shouting and confusion, and then someone yelled: 'Shut up and keep still the lot of you!'

There was stillness and silence. The man who had spoken carefully picked his way across the darkened room and flicked the light-switch. The room was filled with the harsh glare of electric light, and the students stared at me. I grinned, fighting the urge to collapse in hysterical laughter. The expressions on their faces were priceless.

'You're no demon!' the man standing closest to me – the one who had flicked the lights – said eventually. I couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

'What the hell do you think you're playing at?' someone else yelled. I glanced around at the other would-be magicians. Their relief was turning to anger. The other man, however, seemed to find the whole thing amusing. I glanced at him, caught his eye. He grinned. _I could get to like you_, I thought. He had shaggy brown hair, and an evil gleam in his eyes.

'Your little ritual wasn't going to summon anything. I didn't want you to be disappointed!' I said with a Constantine-special cocky grin. 'Oh you have to admit it was funny... You should have seen the looks on your faces!'

'He's drunk,' someone said disgustedly.

'And you're ugly. I'll be sober tomorrow,' I quipped.

'Oscar Wilde. Very good!' laughed the amused student.

'Was it? I thought I'd made it up...' I said, disappointed. He laughed even harder.

'Ripper, it's not funny!' said a man with darting, wary eyes.

'Lighten up Ethan, it's bloody hysterical!' he replied.

Ripper. Ethan. I made a mental note of the names.

'You want to get your locks looked at. Any bugger can just walk in off the streets,' I warned them, pleasantly. Ethan scowled.

'What's your name then?' Ripper asked suddenly.

'John Constantine.' I flicked my hair out of my eyes and grinned.

'Ripper,' he said with a slight nod, and then gestured round the group, 'Ethan, Deirdre, Philip and Thomas.'

'Nice to meet you,' I said, with only a hint of sarcasm. They glared at me, all except Ethan who was still glaring at Ripper, and Ripper, who was still trying not to laugh.

And after that, blagging a bed for the night was the easiest thing in the world.

* * *

'Are you a real magician?' he asked me. I laughed.

'You could say that. I can certainly do a better job of demon-raising than you and your mates did.' His eyes gleamed.

'Show me,' he said.

And I did.

* * *

Before Ripper, I'd never had any time for college boys. Mostly they just pissed me off to high hell; they all seemed to have more money and education than sense. And those that weren't complete right-wing shits were bathed in pathetic middle-class liberalism mixed in with a generous helping of juvenile idealism.

But not Ripper. Ripper wasn't like that. Ripper was a true rebel. He knew the world was too hard for idealism. He was... streetwise. He knew that the system sucked, and he was prepared to stick two fingers up at it and screw the consequences. I don't know how he got to be that way. I know most students rebel. But not the way Ripper did. To be that tough, that angry, that knowing, you have to have lived a hard life. As far as I could tell, Ripper was from a nice middle-class background. Hell, I think _daddy_ was probably paying his college fees. There were no signs of a hard life anywhere in sight. So I never did work out what had happened to Ripper to make him the way he was. He didn't trust me enough to tell me even when we were close.

Now, I doubt I'll ever know.

Maybe magic is the ultimate form of rebellion. Maybe that's what draws us to it, people like Ripper, people like me. It's one power that they just can't take away from you. Because of course it's about power, too. Demon-raising is the ultimate power trip. Maybe that's what drew Ripper in. Maybe he needed a way to feel powerful.

Me, of course, I didn't need a reason. I'm a Constantine. I was screwed before I'd even started.

* * *

So I showed him magic. Sometimes it was just him and me; sometimes he'd bring Ethan, the man with the wary eyes. I wondered about him and Ethan. It wasn't that they were overly friendly; in fact, mostly they were just the opposite. Sometimes they seemed to hate each other. But then, sometimes they seemed to know each other too well. There were times when they could finish each other's sentences. There were times when they couldn't look each other in the eye. There was tension between them, and I was never sure if I was reading it right...

Sometimes, if it wasn't just the three of us, he'd bring a big group. And I loved it that more than anything. It was such an ego trip. They were my willing little disciples; eager to learn everything I was prepared to teach them. I was young – younger than most of them – and I was broke – admittedly most of them were too, but I was likely to stay that way, while they moved on up in the world – and they were college boys (and to be fair, college girls as well), and I was just some bloke off the streets, no education, no money, no nothing... but all the while I was teaching them, I had power over them. I was superior. They listened to me. They respected me.

I was John Constantine, master of the occult, for the first time in my entire life. And it was... magic. It was the most wonderful thing ever. Of course, that was long before I'd realised how painful, how lonely, how terrible the path I'd chosen to walk truly was. Before the deaths had begun to mount up. Sure, there'd been accidents, containment spells which didn't quite hold, exorcisms which hadn't gone as planned. From these, I already had my first scars. But I thought back then that that was as bad as it could get.

I was wrong.

* * *

'Ripper?'

He was sitting slumped at his table, his face buried in his hands. There was a half empty bottle of whisky in his hand. Not a good sign.

'Ripper? You all right?'

He didn't look up.

''ve got a...a des... desi... dessiny...' he slurred drunkenly and miserably. I sat down next to him.

'Fuck destiny.' I said cheerfully. He looked up. He looked like he'd been crying.

'You don' unnerstand. 've got... things... gonna happen. Bad...' he murmured. He swallowed. 'They're watchin' me...' he continued. 'I'm gonna become... one of them. It's written down. In books. They showed me...'

'You're not making any sense,' I said.

''m drunk,' he said, waving the whisky bottle around.

'At least your honest.'

'John... I don' wan' to be... what they're goin' to make me...'

'Why? What are they going to make you?'

'A li-librarian...' he said morosely. I almost laughed... but I realised he was being deadly serious. 'One of _them_...' he continued in a whisper.

'One of them?' I said quietly.

'You know... them. The good guys. The ones tha' sit behind desks. _Them_...' he said miserably. 'The _bassards_...' he added forcefully, before burying his face in his hands again.

'John, you won' let them, will you?' he murmured, his voice so muffled I could barely here him.

'Won't let them what?'

'You won' let them take me? I don' wan' to go...' He grabbed my arm. 'Please, John...' He was crying again.

'No one's taking you anywhere. You're drunk. I'm putting you to bed.'

* * *

Of course, he was embarrassed about it in the morning. It turned out that two guys from the Council had visited his flat. The Council were bad news. They knew where he lived, which is never the most reassuring thing. In fact, it was worse than that: they'd known all sorts of things about him that they had no right to know. They'd turned up on his doorstep suited, official, intimidating... and told him that he was destined to be one of them. It took a lot to unnerve Ripper, but that had reduced him to a drunken, tearful wreck, if only briefly.

'Fuck destiny,' I told him again, now that he was sober enough to listen to me. 'You make your own decisions.' Back then, I probably even believed my own bravado. I know Ripper did. And look at us both now...


	4. Chapter 4

I'd been planning on going back to London, or maybe back to Liverpool, I don't even remember now, but somehow I never went. I got a flat in Oxford, a shitty little place shared with a load of broke students.

As time went on, Ripper began to get less and less satisfied with his little group of friends. There wasn't much power in them, I'd sensed that from the start. Only Ripper had what it takes for _real_ magic. Also, unlike him, the others were not true rebels. They were only comfortable within the safety of laws and rules and restrictions. He soon became bored with the minor illusions and small-time demon raising which was the best that they could manage.

So he began to spend more and more time with me. At first, all we ever talked about was magic. It was all we knew we had in common. I would come round to his flat, and we'd try out a trick or to, and then talk late into the night... but only about magic.

It was enough.

Even as we got to know each other better, conversations almost never got personal. He never talked about his family. And I certainly didn't bring up mine. I never dared ask about Ethan. But it didn't matter. We didn't need to know anything. We were who we were. Despite how little he knew about me, it was me he knew. No masks, no lies. Just John Constantine.

In many ways, I have never been as close to anyone as I was to Ripper at that time. Not Brendan, not Ric, not even Emma or Kit. It wasn't just that he saw me as I was. We were... on a wavelength, somehow. I think it's a skill that Ripper has, an ability to tell how a person needs to be treated. To know when to talk, and when to listen, and when to laugh, and when just to sit in silence.

We didn't have to get drunk to have a good time, and if we did drink, it didn't ruin things.

Hell, I'm not an easy person to get on with. I mean, I can be a right laugh, but on the other hand, I piss people off, even people I get on with. But not him. Never him. He was never annoyed with me. We never argued. I don't think he ever once called me a bastard, not even joking.

And then, when we'd known each other a while all ready, I found out that he played the guitar. For maybe an entire month, we forgot about the supernatural altogether, got lost in the slightly (but only slightly) less sinister world of punk rock. We wrote songs together, and pissed the neighbours off by turning the amps up to full volume at two o'clock in the morning.

I was young, I still believed that the world owed me something. But even so, I should have known that it was too good to last...

* * *

I didn't even notice the moment when it all began to go wrong. It seemed unimportant, and I just let it go, and it is only looking back on it now that I can see that that was when it all started. 

We had been working on a new project until late into the night, and for some reason we'd been at Ripper's student place, rather than my flat. He shared the place with Ethan and Thomas and one or two others, but they weren't in. We had the place to ourselves.

We'd been trying a dangerous type of demon-raising: instead of calling forth a named demon, just fishing blindly, and hoping we'd be able to contain the buggers and find their names before they could get a hold on us and our reality. Sounds a little risky? I'm Constantine, irresponsible's my middle name. And like I've said, I didn't know how badly you could get hurt playing the games I played.

Anyway, nothing had gone wrong, and we'd been able to get all we wanted from the demon we'd caught: a little extra power, a little extra protection... but it had been hard work. We were... drained. Exhausted. We sat slumped on his floor, the remnants of our mystic circle scattered around us. He leaned his head against my shoulder, half asleep. I tried gently to push him away.

'Gotta go home, Ripper,' I murmured. 'Can't fall asleep on your floor,'

'Don't, John,' he said sleepily. 'Stay...'

I hesitated, unable to work out why I felt so uneasy.

'All right,' I said eventually. He was drifting off to sleep where he sat. I shook his shoulder. 'You don't want to sleep here. You'll get covered in blood and chalk.'

He laughed weakly. I staggered to my feet, and pulled him up after me. He leaned against me heavily, and swaying on his feet. His hands were shaking.

'John...' he whispered, and then his knees gave way. He threw his arms around my neck, and buried his head in my chest. I swore quietly.

'What's the matter? Ripper, pull yourself together mate!'

He couldn't. I was suddenly terrified that I'd pushed him to hard... he looked like he was about to pass out. I got my arms around him and manhandled him onto the bed.

'Don't go...' he murmured, and there was panic in his voice.

'I'm not going anywhere,' I said calmly. I had my arm around him still; we were sitting on the edge of the bed, his head resting on my chest. He relaxed, and then after a moment, looked up at me.

'John...' he said. He was smiling slightly, but he looked very pale. 'John, I...'

I got the feeling he was about to say more, but then he shook his head and leaned against my chest again.

'What? What is it?'

'Nothing,' he murmured.

'Are you all right?'

'Think so,' he said. 'Tired...'

His eyes were closed again.

'I'm sorry...' I whispered, but I don't think he heard me. He'd either passed out, or just fallen asleep, his head still resting against my chest.

I laid him gently down on the bed, and quietly stood up to leave. But then I looked back at him. He looked terrible, really ill. I was scared I'd hurt him, or at least let him hurt himself.

I'd said I wasn't going anywhere. I sat down on the bed next to him.

I wondered what it was that he hadn't been able to say to me.

* * *

I woke up next morning to the sound of a key in the lock. It took me a moment to work out where I was. And another moment to realise that Ripper was lying next to me with his arm flung across my chest. 

I didn't have time to wonder who was opening the door before Ethan had flung it open and stepped into the room. He stared at us in dismay.

I sat up quickly, knocking Ripper's arm aside, extremely glad that I was still fully clothed.

'What the _fuck_?' Ethan said. I sighed.

'I suppose there's not much point saying that this isn't what it looks like. Cos it really isn't.'

Ethan threw up his hands in disgust, and stalked out of the room. I groaned, and then bent over Ripper. He still looked pale and exhausted. I shook his shoulder gently.

'Ripper. Wake up.' He opened his eyes and gazed at me for a moment. Then his eyes widened.

'John? What the fuck?' he said.

'That's what Ethan just said,' I said cheerfully. He groaned.

'Oh god...' he said, and buried his face in his hands. I patted his shoulder.

'You all right?' I asked.

'Yeah. I guess so. Hung over...' he said faintly. I looked up at him, worried.

'You weren't drinking,' I said sharply. He winced.

'No. I wasn't, was I...' he said groggily. 'What happened John?'

'Nothing much. We summoned some demons. You passed out. We'd better go talk to Ethan.'

He nodded, but hesitated another moment.

'John... what did I say to you last night...?' I looked at him for a long moment.

'Nothing,' I said eventually. 'You started to say something, or at least I thought you did, but...' I shrugged, 'Nothing.'

I couldn't tell whether he looked relieved or disappointed.

* * *

When the doorbell rang late at night, about a week later, I assumed it was Ripper... but I opened the door to find Ethan standing on my doorstep. 

'Consantine...' he slurred.

I looked him up and down. He was more than a little drunk.

'You'd better come in,' I said eventually. He pushed past me into my flat, and stood staring at me. His wary, untrusting, untrustworthy eyes were the first thing I'd noticed about him when I met him, now they darted across my face, but he couldn't quite meet my eyes.

'Well. What do you want?' I asked shortly, after we'd been standing there for quite some time. He didn't answer.

'For god's sake, Ethan! It's two o'clock in the morning! What do you want?'

'Ripper...' he said with a harsh laugh, his face suddenly twisting into a grimace.

'Well I haven't bloody got him! He's probably at home in bed if he's got any sense.'

Ethan scowled.

'Very funny,' he said sullenly. 'Wha' did you do to him, Cons'antine?'

I stared at him.

'What do you mean what did I do to him?'

'Stop playing games! You know wha' I mean!'

'No, you stop bloody well playing games. I haven't got a clue what you're going on about!'

'I think you've got him bewitched!' he sneered.

'Oh for god's sake!' I snapped. 'You're not talking sense.' Ethan scowled at me.

'You hurt him, bastard!' he hissed. 'I don't know if it was something you said or something you did, but he's hurting, and it's your fault.'

I felt suddenly cold.

'I haven't done _anything_ to him...' I said, wishing I felt more sure of that. What if he had hurt himself demon-raising? What if it _was_ my fault?

'If you knew him like I did, you'd know there was something wrong.' Ethan said angrily.

'And what do you want me to do about it at two o'clock in the morning when he's not even here?' I yelled. Ethan went quiet.

'I just thought you ought to know,' he said, trying to regain his dignity. He turned to go.

Suddenly, I felt sorry for him. He was drunk, and miserable and confused, and ok so he was an untrustworthy bastard, but so was I. I wanted, somehow, to make things better for him.

'Ethan...' I called. He looked at me, half scowling. I hesitated.

'You haven't lost him to me, you know. It's just magic that we do together. Nothing else.'

Ethan laughed bitterly.

'Was that supposed to make me feel better?' he said resentfully. 'I know that you don't love him Consantine. And I'm sure that he doesn't love me. He's as miserable as I am. And that only makes it worse.'

He swept past me into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

None of us mentioned the incident again after that. I was never sure if what Ethan had said that night was true, and even if it was I knew he'd never have said it sober. But even so it had changed things. Between me and Ethan, what had once been mistrust was slowly growing into... hatred is probably too strong, but certainly violent dislike. Although... I felt sorry for him. I think he knew, and it only made him angrier.

And between me and Ripper... it was as though there was something hanging in the air between us. Our friendship had an edge on it that had never been there before. We were still close, if anything closer than before, because he had left himself so open to me, and I had seen him so vulnerable. But there was an awkwardness between us that had never been there before. One of the things I had always liked about being around Ripper was that I could always be myself. Now I was beginning to wonder if _he_ was the one wearing the mask, keeping himself hidden from me.

We neither of us said anything. Half the time, I would wonder if he had even noticed the change. And then I would catch him staring at me strangely, and he'd look away as soon as he realised I'd noticed. Nothing was quite the same, and he knew it too.

Not that anything had changed drastically. Life went on pretty much as normal. We were nervous of magic for a while, went back to safety of rock music. Even when we went back to magic I stuck to simple stuff: turning water into whisky and keeping the TV running without electricity when we failed to pay the bills. I kept well clear of anything dark and dangerous...

* * *

'There are books on magic in the university library, you know,' Ripper told me one day.

'What, in the Bodelian? Really?' I said, slightly bemused. He nodded.

'Yeah. I've been looking stuff up.'

'What kind of stuff?'

'Oh, you know. Just stuff.'

'And you found stuff? In the Bodelian Library? Proper stuff? Not just fairy tales? Demon raising and that?'

'Yeah. And stuff about exorcism, and elemental control, and astral projection...'

He sounded excited. I smiled cautiously, wondering where this was leading.

'I think we should try some of it out,' he said. I shrugged. I wasn't sure I wanted to go back to that yet. I wasn't sure I wanted _him_ to go back to that yet.

Suddenly he frowned slightly.

'John... you're not... you're not trying to protect me or anything stupid like that, are you?' he said.

'You what?' I said incredulously.

'Don't... god, please don't take this the wrong way,' he said, 'But I feel like you've been holding back for me. I _know_ I passed out on you last time we did any serious magic, but... but you've been treating me differently ever since...'

I was stunned into silence.

He thought I'd been treating him differently because he hadn't had the power to keep up with me... He had no idea of what Ethan had said to me. All he knew was that one night, he'd pushed himself to the limit, and not been able to cope, and ever since then, there'd been something wrong between us.

I felt awful.

And the worse thing was, although I'd never thought of it like that... in a way, I suppose I had been trying to protect him. It wasn't that I didn't think he could cope, it was just that... it had _scared_ me when he'd passed out like that. I cared about him too much to be able to stand seeing him hurt...

... And that wasn't a thought I was comfortable with having.

I took a deep breath.

'Sorry,' I said. 'I really didn't mean to be so bloody patronising. I _don't_ think you need protecting. I just thought you wouldn't want to do the dangerous stuff anymore. I thought I'd put you off.'

'It'd take more than that!' Ripper laughed.

* * *

He was right about the university library, the Bodelian had the best collection of occult books I'd ever seen. Now, thinking about, I suspect that the Council must have been using it for storage space. I'm not really one for books myself, everything I do, I've either been taught first hand or just worked out for myself. But Ripper... well, he was a college boy after all, and he loved occult books. Not just reading them, he seemed to love everything about them, the smell, the texture of the pages, the weight of them in his hands...

'You really _are_ destined to be a librarian!' I joked. He smiled.

'Destiny can go to hell!' he said cheerfully.

And we began to work proper magic again. Stuff that even I had never done before. It got to be more complicated, more dangerous, and more of a buzz every time we tried something new.

Despite our growing mutual dislike, more often than not, Ethan would come and join us. It cut down on his suspicion and jealousy, and also the extra power he provided was becoming more and more necessary. It was strange, the first few times I saw him working the occult, I thought that he had very little natural power. Now, watching him more closely, I realised that for some reason, he was almost always holding back. I couldn't work our whether he was doing it deceitfully to hide his abilities, or out of malice, to stop our magic from working properly, or it could have been just plain cowardice – fear of what he was doing. I couldn't even tell if he was doing it consciously or not. But even the limited power boost he was providing us with was necessary, and three is a better number to work with than two, not as powerful as five, but not as hard to control either.

We were working towards another big project, something that Ripper had come across in one of the older and more obscure manuscripts. Combining a kind of astral projection with a complex form of summoning spell it would allow us to take possession of a demon's full occult power, as well as its physical body, for a short time.

Hell, the stupid thing is, we didn't even _need_ to do it. It was just curiosity, power hunger, arrogance. The fact that we thought we could. I've done some fairly pointless things in my time, and some bloody dangerous magic... but usually when things are life-threateningly dangerous, they're at least of life or death importance as well. Now, when I risk my neck, it's usually to save someone's soul, and when I sell my soul, I expect the world in return. Then... I thought it was a bit of a laugh. And despite all the warnings, I still hadn't realised that if you play with fire, you're going to get burned.

Or, worse still, someone else is...

* * *

Ripper wanted to do the actual projection, to have the experience of looking out on the world though demon eyes, so he was going to be the Wanderer. Ethan was the Anchor; his job was to keep Ripper fixed on this plain. I was going to be the Vessel; our power would be combined in me, and I would have control.

With practiced hands, we marked the chalk pentagram on the bare floorboards, placed and lit the seven candles, burned and scattered the herbs. We stood facing each other for a moment, and then linked hands. Ethan's were slick with sweat. Ripper's were trembling slightly, but I could tell it was with excitement. I squeezed his hand in a wish of good luck. He smiled slightly.

And we began.

I don't know when I realised that something was badly wrong. At first it felt like nothing was happening – there was the build up of tension in the air, and my skin began to prickle, but there was no tangible result. Ripper was squeezing my hand tighter and tighter. Ethan stared at the floor, his face frozen in concentration, but Ripper's face wasn't frozen, his eyes danced in the candlelight. The candle flames flickered in an ethereal wind, burning more and more fiercely, until I was forced to look away. The temperature dropped suddenly, making me shiver violently, and then slowly began to rise until sweat was dripping down my forehead, plastering my hair to my face. A strange humming noise filled my ears, blocking out all other sounds so that I could no longer hear the words Ethan was chanting. Ethan glanced up suddenly, his frozen face melting into a look of fear, but he didn't break the chanting. Ripper seemed not to have noticed any of this, he was staring ahead, his face full of excitement, his eyes reflecting fire...

... there was something wrong with his eyes...

Ethan must have noticed at exactly the same moment I did, because at that moment, he jerked his hand out of Ripper's and pulled away, breaking the circle. He was shouting something and gesturing wildly, but I couldn't hear him, all I could here was the humming inside my head, which was beginning to sound less like humming and more like... screaming.

...There was something wrong with Ripper's eyes... something wrong...

He met my gaze squarely, and I realised that they weren't reflecting the candlelight; the fire was dancing within them. His pupils had shrunk to pinpricks. His smoky-grey irises seemed to be spreading across the whites of his eyes, and fire was dancing at their heart.

It wasn't Ripper looking out through those eyes. It was something else entirely.

The screaming in my head was drowning out all thoughts.

Not Ripper. Not him. He'd gone, he wasn't there. And something else was staring out through his eyes.

Not Ripper.

Ethan was panicking, and I was terrified he was going to scuff the chalk circle and let out Ri... the thing that was no longer Ripper. I grabbed his shoulder, and forced him to the floor. He stared up at me, angry and afraid.

I tried to keep my head. I tried to locate Ripper, he should still have been joined to me by the spell we'd cast. If it was a standard possession, he'd still be in his body, held down by the psychic strength of the...thing which was now looking out through his eyes. But if that was the case, then me and Ethan combined would have strength enough to force the demon out. After all, we had summoned it.

But even as I thought this, I knew instinctively that it wasn't a standard possession.

No, what had happened to Ripper... what I had done to him... was far worse.

He wasn't in his body. I couldn't feel him anywhere in the room.

He was gone.

I realised I was shaking. But there was no time to panic, there was no time to be upset. Desperately hoping it would work, I put out the candles as quickly as I could, burning my fingers in the process. The room was plunged into total darkness, but I could still see the fire that burning in the heart of what had once been Ripper's eyes.

It was moving slowly towards Ethan now, sweeping Ripper's hair out of its face with a lazy flick of one hand. Ethan backed away in terror, his arms flailing out.

I could see it coming, any minute now, Ethan was going to break the circle, and then we would have no control over the thing at all.

'Watch out! Fucking stop it! Ethan!' I yelled out in a complete panic. I don't think he could hear me.

I didn't know what to do.

Ethan had lost his head. Any minute now he was going to do something stupid.

And Ripper was gone.

Ethan had buried his head in his arms. He curled his knees up to his chest, drew himself in as small as he could. The thing reached down, and grabbed his shoulder with one hand. Just for a moment, it could have been Ripper, bending over to comfort him. Then it grabbed a fistful of Ethan's hair, and jerked his head back painfully.

Not Ripper. Something else. It forced Ethan to his feet, forced him to stare into its eyes.

Ethan screamed.

It raked its nails across Ethan's face, hard enough to draw blood. Ethan cried out again, but the thing had obviously not done as much damage as it had hoped to. In its true form, it must have had claws.

It wasn't in its true form...

Suddenly, my mind cleared slightly. This thing wasn't Ripper, but it had Ripper's body, and Ripper's strength, with all the limitations that entailed.

I grabbed it by the shoulders, dragging it off Ethan. It hissed in surprise. I punched it hard in the chest; Ripper's body buckled with the blow, and crashed into the invisible barrier of the circle, before ricocheting off and landing crumpled on the floor. A pang of uncontrollable guilt washed over me, huddled on the floor, its face buried in its hands, it was hard to believe that the thing wasn't Ripper.

It pulled itself to its feet, and its eyes burned and swirled.

_Not... Ripper... Keep a hold on yourself, Johnny boy. It's not Ripper..._ I said to myself.

Before it could pull itself together again, I had grabbed its shoulder. I punched it hard in the chest twice more, with such force that I felt ribs snap beneath my hands. It growled with pain, and writhed in my hands.

I punched it in the head, once, twice. I felt its jaw crack. Its head lolled, but it was still semi-conscious. I raised my fist again.

Suddenly, Ethan was grabbing my arm.

'You'll kill him!'

'It's not him! He's not there! You were his Anchor, you should feel that...' I realised to with a shock that I was actually crying, tears pouring down my face.

'You can't! What if he's trapped somewhere? Constantine! You bloody can't!'

'I can't let this thing out on the world! I summoned it. It's my bloody fault, and I know that, all right? But Ripper's already dead._ He's not here._ If I have to kill his body to get rid of this thing... maybe it's for the best.'

'You're a heartless bastard, John Constantine!'

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I swung my fist again and again, pounding blows on the thing's head.

Its head snapped back on its neck with an audible crack

There was a strange rush of wind, and again I heard the screaming in my ears, louder and louder until I thought I was going to pass out.

And then, suddenly, just for an instant, Ripper was staring out at me through half closed eyes.

'John...' he whispered, but the word caught in his chest, and he collapsed against me.

I started to shake violently. My vision blurred and my head was swimming.

'Ripper?' I said, my voice harsh with shock.

I laid him on the floor as gently as I could. He was still breathing.

'Call an ambulance,' I said in a strangled voice.

'What?' Ethan said, incredulously. He hadn't seen what I had, hadn't heard Ripper say my name.

'Call a fucking ambulance Ethan! Do it now!' I yelled. My voice cracked and gave out. I'd yelled myself completely hoarse.

'It's him. It's Ripper,' I explained hurriedly in a cracked whisper. Ethan's eyes widened in shock, and he rushed to the telephone. I heard him talking in a panicked voice.

Ripper's breath was making a horrible, rattling sound in his chest. I remembered the feel of his ribs breaking, remembered the sound that his neck has made as his head had snapped back under my blows and my head reeled. I staggered away and threw up, leaning against the doorframe, retching violently. Then I buried my face in my hands. I couldn't stop shaking.

When I looked up, Ethan was watching me.

'I'm leaving,' I said in a broken voice. 'I have to leave...'

'Yes,' he said flatly.

'I... I won't be back.' Ethan didn't say anything. 'If he...' I swallowed, '...If he wants to talk to me, I'll be in London. He knows where to get hold of me.'

'If he ever wakes up,' Ethan said maliciously. I closed my eyes. Fresh tears made tracks down my face.

I turned around and knelt down by Ripper, laying my hand on his shoulder.

'I'm sorry...' I said.

Then I turned and fled.


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up uncomfortable, stiff, freezing cold. I've been dreaming about the past, terrible images still whirl around my head: Ripper's body crumpling doll-like beneath my hand, something else staring out from his eyes. I suppress a horrified shudder, and stretch out my arms.

They don't connect against the familiar, battered wooden headboard of my bed; instead they brush against something soft and fabric. I gasp, and open my eyes. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I don't have a clue where I am.

Then I realise I'm lying on Giles' sofa... and memories come flooding back. I flex my fingers experimentally, and then swear out loud as my arm explodes into pain. The aching in my chest starts up again. I try to curl up, hugging myself against the pain, but there's not enough room on the sofa; the cushions slide from under me and I land in a crumpled head on Giles' living room floor.

'Constantine? That you?' Giles calls from the kitchen.

'Yeah,' I manage. I force myself to my knees. To top everything off, a night sleeping on Giles' sofa has left me with a crick in my neck...

Giles walks into the room, looking wide-awake. I'm kneeling on the floor in a pile of blankets, my eyes still half closed, my hair plastered to my head, my chin covered with a good sprinkling of blond stubble. I'm still wearing the blood-stained t-shirt I had on yesterday, but my equally filthy jeans are draped across his living room floor.

'You're a mess,' he says observantly. I force myself to my feet.

'Can I borrow some clothes?' I say with a grimace.

'Well you can't wear those... The bathroom's on the left. Get yourself cleaned up, I'll see what I can find.'

I make my way to Giles' bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror for a good few minutes, gingerly touching my black eye. Then I plunge my entire head into a sink-full of cold water. It stings, and I come up spluttering, but more awake.

I clean myself up as best as I can, gently washing the dried blood from my arm and hands, before awkwardly retying the bandage on my arm. Then I hunt around for a razor, and shave clumsily. I rake my fingers through my damp hair, trying to make it lie flat.

Before I leave, I glance up at my reflection in the mirror again... but it's no good. I still look a complete mess.

Giles has managed to find a pair of old, dark trousers roughly my size, and a non-descript shirt. I pull the trousers on, and then strip off my filthy t-shirt. Giles looks away, and for some reason that makes me angry. Bare-chested, I stretch my arms, and try to relax the muscles in my shoulders. Then I realise I'm being petty, and pull on the shirt.

I can hardly do the buttons, my fingers are so stiff. Giles watches me struggling, but doesn't offer to help. Probably a good thing, cos I wouldn't exactly have appreciated it, I'd probably have snapped at him... but I feel slighted anyway.

I wish I hadn't dreamed what did last night...

I feel... oh god, I don't even know what I feel. Guilty still, after all these years. Bitter that the closeness has been lost.

I don't even bother to try doing the bloody cuff buttons; instead I roll up the shirt sleeves in angry resignation. It's stupid, really, that I can get so wound up about such a little thing.

'Tea? Coffee?' Giles asks. I stare at him for a moment, then shake myself. If I can just wake up... the world will be a better place.

'Coffee, please,' I say. He disappears into the kitchen, and reappears a few moments later with two mugs. We sit facing each other across his table, drinking our coffee in silence.

After a while, he breaks the silence.

'You said last night that you thought you knew something about whoever it is that's after you.'

I take a deep breath. It's strange, despite my black eye and slashed arms, I'd managed to almost forget why I was here, become too caught up in the past. Something's coming to get me. I'm in over my head... but despite the bruises, I can't get the thought to feel true. I feel... strangely safe. And anyway, I don't know how to tell him...

'It's... complicated,' I say.

'When is life not complicated?' He sounds almost sympathetic.

'Listen, I...' I stare into my coffee and talk fast, 'A couple of years back, I pissed off the rulers of hell by beating them in an argument, and tricking them into granting me immortality. Only I'm sure by now they've found a loophole and sent something after me which is likely to be demonically strong and completely unstoppable, and I didn't know who else to come to, and it's after me, and I don't know what I'm doing...'

I realise I've dissolved into incoherent panicking, and stop talking abruptly. 'I told you it was complicated,' I say with a shaky laugh.

Giles is staring at me.

'You tricked the Three into granting you immortality? Christ, Constantine, that's super-villain territory! The last person I knew who did that ended up turning into a giant snake. Buffy had to kill him by blowing up Sunnydale High...'

It's his turn to realise he's babbling. He stops, and concentrates hard on polishing his glasses. _Giant snake?_ I think, almost in amusement. On second thoughts, I'd really rather not know. Bloody hellmouth... I smile grimly, and get back to the conversation.

'I know it wasn't exactly the best idea in the world,' I continue. 'I think I knew it even at the time. But I was dying, and I was desperate. I'm no villain Giles. I may be stupid, but I'm not _evil_...'

Giles looks up, an unreadable expression on his face.

'You don't have to justify yourself to me, Constantine,' he says with a slight smile. 'If there had been any hint of evil about you, Buffy would probably have killed you on the spot. She's good like that...'

'She almost did,' I admit. 'I had quite a job persuading her not to stake me.'

'Really?' Giles says, looking interested.

'Yeah. She could sense the demon blood in me.' Giles is looking at me strangely, and I suddenly remember that he doesn't know _that_ story either. 'Don't even ask,' I warn him. 'It'd take too long to explain, and it's not worth the effort. It's nothing to do with this...'

'You have demon blood floating around in your system, and it's not _even_ anything to do with the fact that you tricked the Three into granting you immortality?'

'I lead an interesting life,' I say with a sigh and a shrug.

At that moment, our conversation is interrupted by the phone ringing. Giles picks it up, looking vaguely apologetic.

'Hello? Who's speaking?' There's a pause, and then his eyes widen in disbelief momentarily, before a look of anger crosses his face. 'What the hell do you want? I've told you before, the slayer works for herself now...'

It takes me a moment to realise that it must be the Council on the other end of the phone. And another moment still to register that Giles seems to think he's no longer working for them any more. Once I've realised that... everything seems somehow different. Giles _hasn't_ betrayed the person he used to be, hasn't become one of _them_, a rule-abiding do-gooder stuck behind a desk... he still knows how to say 'fuck you' to authority. I smile, and then I catch the anxiety in Giles' face, and my smile is wiped clean.

'Why would I tell you that? I'm no longer your employee; I'm not answerable to you!' There is a pause. Giles looks over at me, frowning slightly. 'That might be true, but it's none of your business,' he continues after a moment, sounding even more annoyed. 'No… I said _no_! I don't wish to discuss this any further. Good day.'

He hangs up the phone abruptly with a loud clatter. Then he turns on me.

'Constantine, have you been winding up the council?' he asks. He's obviously not decided yet whether he's angry with me or not. I'm just plain confused…

'The council? Bloody hell, no! I haven't had any contact with them since last time I saw you… I don't understand…'

'They were asking after you. They wanted to know if I'd seen you.'

I've been feeling strangely safe all morning, but now I'm in a panic again. This is just too much of a coincidence.

'What did you tell them?'

'You heard me. I said it was none of their business. The council and I… we've had our disagreements. I no longer work for them. In fact, my opinion of them has not changed a great deal since we last spoke. They might still intimidate me, but I still think they're a right bunch of stuck up tossers.'

I almost laugh. Just for a minute, it sounds like Ripper talking.

'They told me I had a destiny to fulfil,' he continues with a grin, 'I told them that destiny could go fuck itself.'

This time, I laugh out loud, almost unable to believe that he's taken my advice from twenty years ago.

'I don't understand why you ever worked for them in the first place,' I say. His face freezes.

'You mean you don't know?' he asks. My heart sinks. I've got a bad feeling about this…

'No…' I say quietly.

'They came to me… not long after you left. Turns out they'd been… watching out for us… and specifically me…the whole time. Well, I was skipping so many tutorials, and doing so little work, did you never wonder why the university never kicked me out? The Council was fixing things, even back then. Making sure I passed the exams I needed to. Stuff like that. And also… Every spell we cast that went wrong… they sorted out the side effects… banished back what we'd summoned, fixed it where we'd messed with the natural balance of things. They'd controlled almost my entire life from the age of 17..' Giles sighed heavily.

'And when you left, they said… they'd had enough of cleaning up after me. That little incident was the last straw. They said I was going to work for them, and that I didn't have any choice. They… pointed out… that they could make life very difficult for me if I didn't cooperate with them. They were keeping me at university, they could just as easily make sure I was kicked out. They could ensure I'd never be able to get a job, hell, they could even withdraw my passport. They could make life very difficult indeed. This was… really not long after you'd left. I was still recovering. I was in no state to argue with them…'

'Bastards!' I snarl. There is silence for a moment.

It was… my fault… that the Council caught up with him. The thought is almost unbearable. The past hangs over us, and we can't meet each other's eyes. Eventually, I force myself to say it.

'I'm sorry. I really am…'

'Sorry the Council blackmailed me? Or sorry you got me possessed by a demon and then almost beat me to death with your bare hands?'

I don't know what to say. But then Giles looks up at me, and sees the panic in my eyes, and his expression softens.

'It wasn't your fault. I know that really,' he says. I bury my face.

'Of course it was! I should never have… Ripper, I almost got you killed!'

Neither of us notices that I've called him by the old name.

'It was twenty years ago, John,' Giles says after a long silence. 'I've been closer to death since…'

'That's not the point,' I say without looking up.

There is a long silence. Then, abruptly, I stand up, almost knocking my chair over.

'Constantine, what is it?'

'I'm leaving. I can't stay here, Giles. I can't… I can't risk putting you in danger.'

'Don't be stupid! Constantine, I live with danger! I'm a watcher. I live on the hellmouth. And anyway, you can't leave now. Where would you go?'

'I don't know. Away from here…'

'Constantine, if I let you go, _I'm_ putting _you_ in danger. I can't do that. You can't make me do that. I won't let you.'

'But Giles, I - I can't… put you… in danger… again… Don't you understand?' My voice is catching. I swear violently under my breath, and turn away.

Giles puts his hand on my shoulder.

'I forgive you, John. I know you never meant to hurt me. Now please don't make me spend the next twenty years feeling guilty over you…'

Relief floods over me, and I suddenly feel as though my legs are about to give way. I sit down heavily on Giles' sofa, and he sits down next to me. When he puts his arm around my shoulders, I don't push him away.

'I'm _scared_…' I admit. I don't think he's ever seen me scared before.

'I know, John. It's all right…'

I remember the first time I saw Ripper scared. I remember how close it brought us. I remember how it made me feel to be the strong one, to comfort him, to reassure him. I lean my head against Giles' arm, and allow the fear to wash over me, knowing that he will do all he can to make everything all right.

And knowing that he's forgiven me.


	7. Chapter 7

'And you really have no idea what the Council want from you?' Giles asks. I sigh and run my hands through my hair.

'None at all. I don't understand why they'd suddenly… after all these years… it doesn't make any sense.' I shake my head in angry confusion. Anger is better than fear. Easier to deal with. More familiar. Less revealing.

'It's… It is a little strange,' Giles continues. 'Not so much the fact that they're trying to find you, as the fact that they know where to look.' I glance up at him quickly.

'I don't understand,' I admit. He spells it out for me.

'Well I can think of various reasons why they might be breathing down your neck… but to try and find you by calling me, less than twenty four hours after you've contacted me for the first time in twenty years… it's a bit of a coincidence…'

Anger is once again giving way to fear. Because, bloody hell, he has a point…

'I don't trust coincidences,' I say out loud.

'Neither do I…' he says with a shake of his head. 'Constantine, I'm afraid they know you're here all ready. I think they might be watching me.'

I've come to that conclusion too. It's not helping.

But it's better than most of the alternatives. Because if they're not watching Giles, then they must be watching me.

Now I think about it, if anything that seems _more_ likely. I mean, not only do they know exactly where to look for me, they've also chosen now of all times to do it. When I'm up to my eyeballs in shit and afraid for my life.

Maybe they're hoping I'll come crawling to them, begging for their help… which is not bloody likely. I think I'd die first…

Listen to me. I say this now, but when the shit really hit the fan, I pleaded with The Snob. Maybe they know that. Maybe they know that if the smell of brimstone really does get too close, I'll take help from anyone who offers.

Maybe they're in league with the Devil. Maybe the Three set them up, just to freak me out that little bit extra.

Well, if they did, it's working. I'm freaked. Are you happy now, you bastards?

There's a ring on the doorbell. I jump. Giles stands up and answers it, warily, but it's only the slayer and her friends.

Teenagers. Bloody hell, was I ever that young?

'Hey Giles! Hanging with your demon buddy?' the boy quips. 'Ouch man, that's gotta hurt,' he continues, commenting on my black eye. I bite back a sarcastic reply.

'Constantine, meet Willow and Xander,' Giles says, taking off his glasses, and polishing them.

'We've met,' I say.

'He was tied to a chair,' the boy – Xander – points out. I'm starting to get pissed off with him already.

'Seriously, are you ok?' Willow asks kindly. 'You looked pretty beat up last night.'

I force a smile. 'I'm alright,' I answer, and it's mostly true. You can't die of morbid apprehension, and that's pretty much all I'm suffering from right now.

'Well, the good news is I didn't catch sight of your invisible attacker when I was patrolling last night,' the slayer says.

'Which isn't really surprising, seeing as he's, well, invisible!' Xander adds with a grin. Then he catches the look on my face.

'Sorry. Shutting up now,' he says.

'The bad news,' Buffy continues, 'Is that according to my sources…'

'… she asked Spike…' Willow whispers to Giles. I throw her a bemused look, and Buffy glares at both of us, without breaking her flow of speech.

'…there's a rumour about that someone's looking for a mage by the name of Constantine. And they're willing to pay big money if he's handed over… umm, the exact words were "alive but not necessarily in one piece." '

Briefly, I wonder if that's been set up by the Council, or by Hell. It sounds more like the Council, cos Hell don't usually offer payment for doing their dirty work. Of course, if they're working together, which is still a possibility, then it doesn't make all that much difference.

Giles is looking at me strangely. I don't think he can work out how I'm going to react. Trouble is neither can I.

I need a cigarette. Distracted, I fish about in my trouser pocket, but there's nothing there. Then I remember: not my bloody trousers.

'Constantine?' Giles says, with a slightly pitying look. I look up with a start, and then shrug, and decide to play it nonchalant.

'It's not the first time I've had a price on me head. But the bastards haven't got me yet, and I don't think they're about to start now. Not now that I've been warned, anyway. Thanks, luv.' I flash Buffy a grin. She doesn't smile back, but she does nod her acknowledgement, and the other two look suitably impressed. Giles, on the other hand, looks a little put out. Maybe he thinks I'm being cocky. Maybe he preferred it when I was being vulnerable.

Maybe he, like me, knows that confidence is almost never more than a mask; and maybe we're both sick of masks.

Maybe I'm thinking too much.

God I need a cigarette.

I stand up from the table, and pick up my trench coat, searching through the pockets for a packet of Silk Cut.

'Where are you going, John? Giles asks.

'Nowhere,' I say, waving the Silk Cut at him in explanation. I take one from the packet, but just before I light up, I remember that it's his house, and unlike Ripper, Giles is quite likely to complain about cigarette ash on the carpet.

'Umm… you don't mind?' I say, slightly embarrassed.

'What? Oh, no, go ahead, go ahead,' he says. 'Just mind the books.'

'It's an impressive collection. One of the best I've seen,' I comment. The closest to a compliment that I'm ever likely to get.

'Yes. Well. I've had plenty of opportunity to amass rare books. I was librarian at Sunnydale High for many years,' he says, slightly bitterly.

'Fate is cruel,' I retort. We grin at each other, sharing the joke. Buffy looks at us blankly, and Xander frowns slightly, as though he's realised that he's missed the punch line, and suddenly I'm scared I'm going to start laughing hysterically at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. I realise with a jolt that I'm so on edge I'm on the verge of losing control. So much for playing it nonchalantly. I take a long drag on my Silk Cut, hoping that no one will notice my shaking hands.

'What exactly is it that chasing after you, Mr Constantine?' Willow asks suddenly. I stare blankly at her, momentarily thrown by the name, because '_Mr_ Constantine' usually means trouble.

'I-I mean, umm… is it a ghost, or someone who can turn themselves invisible, or some sort of spirit? Cos if we're gonna research it… well, it would help if we knew what we were looking for,' Willow explains.

Ghosts I can deal with. Hell, ghosts I'm _used_ to dealing with. I take a deep breath.

'I think it's some sort of demonic agent,' I say quickly.

'But we don't actually need you to read up on it,' Giles adds. 'I did some research of my own last night, and I'm pretty sure I know what our invisible attacker was…'

He flicks through one of the thick occult books until he comes to the page on invisible assassins that he showed me last night. Then he and Willow pour over the Latin text. Xander looks over their shoulders at the book and shudders.

'Sheesh! Not even any pictures…' he complains.

Well duh! They're _invisible_! I think spitefully in a malicious parody of his accent, remembering his earlier inane comments.

Buffy takes a look at the book herself and frowns slightly.

'Can I stake 'em?' she asks simply.

'Well that depends…' Giles says. Willow interrupts enthusiastically.

'Y'see, some of them are at least partially corporeal, and those should be pretty stake-able, but then some of them are transient, and jeez! there are even some here that are quasi-intangible, which is pretty exciting if you're interested in the quantum-occult side of things…'

'Huh?' Buffy says. 'Will, I just asked if I could stake it!'

'Oh. Well, that depends…' Willow says with an elaborate shrug. Giles sighs, exasperated.

'What I want to know,' I interrupt loudly, 'What I want to know is where the bloody thing is now. I don't care if it's quasi-insufferable, or to tell you the truth even whether or not you can stake it. I just want to know if it's still after me.'

'To be honest with you, Constantine, only you can answer that one,' Giles points out. 'Although I have to admit, I think if it was planning on killing you any time soon, it would have made another attempt last night, so I'd guess you're reasonably safe, at least for the time being…'

But before he can finish the sentence, he is cut off… because someone, or… or something… is hammering loudly on his front door.

I stand up fast, a burst of fear and adrenalin flooding through my body. I don't bloody believe this!

'Don't panic,' Giles says calmly. 'It's probably… I mean it's not necessarily…umm…' He trails off. I bury my face in my hands. The pounding is getting louder, more desperate.

'Oh bloody hell!' I say, and it's almost a whimper. Willow and Xander are staring at me. Buffy has produced a stake from nowhere and is glaring at the door.

'Giles! I know you're in there!'

It's not the threatening, silent voice of the… thing. It's… an English accent, tinged with anger, and desperation, and… fear.

Giles looks at me with a confused frown. I shrug, my panic receding slightly, but not entirely. Is this some sort of trick?

Giles hesitates, and then stands up slowly. He rests his hand briefly on my shoulder, and then cautiously goes to open the door. I hang back slightly, just in case it's… well, just in case.

'Oh thank fuck! Giles, I need your help…'

The voice is faint with pain and worry, and… strangely familiar. Frowning slightly, I try to look over Giles' shoulder inconspicuously… and then I suddenly I realise who it is that's standing outlined in the doorway, and I swear incredulously.

It's Ethan Rayne.

He's badly beaten up. He looks pale and dazed. His nose is bleeding, he's trying to stop the flow of blood with his hands, dabbing at it ineffectively, but he's only smearing the blood across his face. I expect Giles to take his arm, sit him down on the sofa, clean him up, maybe make him a cup of tea, but Giles is scowling angrily.

'Why would I help you?' he asks incredulously and harshly. Ethan seems on the verge of tears.

'I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry… I don't have anyone else to turn to. Something's after me…'

Giles seems to be working hard to control his anger.

'I hope you bloody realise,' he says quietly and dangerously, 'That under normal circumstances, there is no _way_ I would believe a word you have to say. I don't like you, and I certainly don't trust you… but you'd better come in…'

Relief visibly washes over Ethan, and he buries his face in his hands.

'Thank you. Bloody hell, thank you…' he grovels. Giles stands aside, contempt written across his face, and Ethan steps into the house.

Then he notices me, and freezes. His eyes widen in shock, and then narrow in suspicion.

'Constantine…' he gasps. 'Oh bloody hell!' He stares at me with mistrust in his eyes, but I scarcely give him a second glance, cos I'm busy staring at Giles. I don't know where this anger on Giles' part has come from. I mean, there's always been tension between them, but… I can see hatred in Giles' eyes, and I don't understand it.

Something must have happened between him and Ethan, something big. Giles turns to Buffy.

'Go and see if you can find any trace of the thing that did this to Ethan. Anything at all. Take Willow and Xander with you,' he says urgently.

'All right,' Buffy said with a small frown, 'But I don't understand why we're helping him at all! Giles, he almost got me killed!' Giles sighs, obviously trying hard to be patient.

'I know, Buffy,' he says through gritted teeth. 'Believe me, nothing would give me greater pleasure than watching Ethan get torn to death by an invisible assassin… but if there's something that's after him _and_ John, then that's bad news. I can't explain now, but I need your help. Please do this for me? And don't ask any questions, not yet…'

Buffy nods slowly. Then her and the others clatter noisily out of the house, talking excitedly about search tactics and slaying techniques.

'Giles, what the _hell's_ going on?' I demand once they're out of earshot.

'What the fuck's he doing here?' Ethan says with a scowl.

'Same thing as you,' Giles says angrily. 'He needed my help. The only difference is, when he turned up on my doorstep I trusted him not to turn me into a teenager or try and get Buffy possessed!'

He trusts me more than Ethan! Well, considering the way things seem between them, that's not saying too much, but he trusts me not to get him and his slayer cursed or possessed or otherwise fucked over by the world in general. Even many of the people I consider friends dread me turning up on their doorsteps unannounced, because they don't trust me not to get them killed. And considering my track record, I really can't blame them. So it's not really _so_ surprising that I'm pathetically grateful for Giles' little affirmation of trust.

'I'm sorry about that, Ripper mate,' Ethan says with a sickly smile. 'If I thought you'd believe me, I'd tell you it was an accident.'

Giles clenches his fists and for a moment, I think he's going to hit him.

'Giles, calm down,' I murmur. He takes a deep breath, and nods.

'Constantine, you really genuinely can't think of a single reason why the council would be after you?' he asks again. I shrug.

'No. Nothing. I've been keeping out of trouble,' I say with a slight smile. Ethan rolls his eyes and gives an exasperated sigh. Giles pointedly ignores him.

'But you have to admit, it's a bit of a coincidence, Ethan turning up here now,' he says.

'The thought had crossed my mind,' I admit. 'Last night I was certain that whatever it was that was after me, it was because of the Three. Now I'm not so sure.' Giles nods in agreement.

'It could be something to do with something we did when we were younger,' he says without much conviction. He doesn't really believe it, and neither do I. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he tries to explain his rationale.

'I mean… a far reaching consequence… of something…that we didn't register at the time…'

'… or it could be something to do with the council,' I interrupt. Giles shrugs, and then nods.

'We've been driven here, me and Ethan…' I say, thinking out loud, trying to get my thoughts in some kind of order. 'What if it's because _they_ think we're supposed to be here? I think they might be…'

'Trying to get you to fulfil a destiny…' Giles finished for me. I nod enthusiastically.

'…but they knew we'd never cooperate…' I continue.

'…So they _scared_ you into coming to me.' Giles realises with an incredulous, disgusted sneer. 'Made sure I was all you had left to turn to…'

'Bastards!' I yell, banging my fist down on the table hard enough to make the coffee cups rattle. Ethan jumps slightly, and then scowls at me.

'But I don't see why the Council would go to such lengths to get us to come to Giles,' he says with a sneer. 'What could possibly be happening in _Sunnydale_ that would make the council decide we all three need to be here now? The _Apocalypse_?'

'He has a point…' I conceed.

'Umm I don't mean to sound arrogant, but if it was _just_ the Apocalypse, we wouldn't actually need you,' Giles says with a strange half laugh. 'As my American friends would probably say: "Been there. Done that…" '

'You've averted Armegeddon?' I ask. Giles grins.

'More than once, actually,' he says, slightly smugly.


	8. Chapter 8

Buffy and her friends arrive back from their little research expedition, report back that there is nothing worth reporting, and then head off again quickly. They can tell that the tension in Giles' house is beginning to reach explosive levels, and quite sensibly make a hasty exist. I only wish I could do the same.

Ethan won't stop whinging. He blames me for… well, putting it bluntly, he blames me for everything. If he thought about it long enough he could probably work out how to blame me for original sin. And this sudden, painful invasion of his life by the council has my trademark stamped all over it. If I were him, I'd probably blame me too. Trouble is, him sitting here and accusing me is getting us nowhere.

And any minute now, I'm going to loose my temper and thump him.

Either that or Giles is.

I've never really seen Giles angry before. Not like this, anyway. He's… seething. I've got the distinct impression that the only reason he's not rearranging Ethan's face at this point is because someone else has already done it for him. He looks like he's working bloody hard to keep from doing something he'll regret. I wonder again what Ethan could possibly have done to turn his friendship into such bitter hate. Then I go back to wondering why the fuck the Council would go to such lengths to get the three of us together in Sunnydale. If it's mages and magic they're after, I'm sure they could easily find willing little helpers among their own people, mages that they can trust, magic that they can control. And if it's not magic they want from us… then what?

'I think you should check out any local books of prophesy you can get your hands on,' I suggest to Giles. 'See if we're obviously destined to come together and do something any time in the near future.'

Giles nods, still looking distracted, and begins to search through his piles of books, slightly aimlessly. Ethan laughs bitterly.

'I've had enough of this,' he says. 'These stupid conspiracy theories, blaming the council... it's not helping. Giles, something bloody attacked me, and it wasn't a bloke in a suit. If you're not going to do anything about it, I'm off. This is pointless.'

He makes to stand up and leave, but Giles quickly grabs his arm, hard enough to hurt. Ethan struggles angrily. I watch them in fascination, but find myself unable to intervene, even though they're just one step away from real violence.

'Let go! Let me go, you bastard. Get off me!' Ethan growls.

'Don't be such a bloody idiot,' Giles hisses, jerking his arm back and forcing him to stop struggling. Ethan sits back and stares up at him defiantly, but Giles doesn't release his grip.

'If the aim of the… whatever-it-was that attacked you was to draw you here, then for now you're perfectly safe. But _only_ as long as you stay where it wants us. You fuck off now, and you're putting us _all_ in danger,' Giles says quietly and rationally, but with an undertone of blazing anger. He's bent his face close to Ethan's, and suddenly an unwelcome image springs to the front of my mind: something that looks like Ripper is bending down over a cowering Ethan, gripping his shoulder, raking blunt nails across his face. I shudder.

'All right!' Ethan yells suddenly. 'I'm not going anywhere. Happy?' Giles slowly lets go of his shoulder, and the image passes.

'If you fuck this one up for me,' Giles says dangerously, 'If anyone gets hurt because of you, I'll kill you. I mean it, Ethan.'

His voice is shaking with emotion, and not just anger. He sounds like he's on the verge of tears.

'I've said I'll bloody cooperate, haven't I?' Ethan says resentfully. 'You're just going to have to trust me.'

'And how the _hell_ am I supposed to do that?' Giles yells. He clenches his fists and stares at Ethan for a long moment, before turning and storming out of the room.

Me and Ethan sit in uncomfortable silence and try not to meet each other's eyes. I can hear Giles clattering around the kitchen, and then the sounds of muffled cursing. I throw Ethan a reproachful look and follow him out of the room.

* * *

He's poured himself a whisky, and is leaning against the kitchen counter, not drinking, just swirling it around in the glass. He looks up as I approach.

'John,' he says, nodding slightly. 'Drink?'

I shake my head. 'Not a good idea.'

He shrugs, and takes a gulp.

'You alright?' I ask. He doesn't answer for quite a while, and when he finally does, it's barely above a whisper. We're both very conscious that there's not even a wall between us and Ethan.

'D'you remember Deirdre Page?' The sudden change of subject throws me.

'Of course,' I say with a shrug, a little bemused.

'How about Henry Thomas? And Philip?' he continues.

'Yeah,' I say cautiously. 'What about them?'

'They're dead, John,' Giles says gently.

'Dead?' I echo stupidly, not knowing what else to say. It might sound callous, but I honestly don't care. It's been too long. The names barely even have faces attached, and I can't make myself care.

'Dead,' Giles says again, and then suddenly, in a rush of words: 'It was Ethan. Ethan killed them, John.'

I stare at him, stunned. He shakes his head wildly.

'Oh I don't mean he murdered them with his own hands. He's too much of a coward for that. But he killed them all the same.'

'How?' I ask, a little too loudly. Giles glares at me and we both glance over at Ethan, but he doesn't seem to be listening. He has his head buried in his hands.

'A possession that went wrong,' Giles mutters. My blood runs cold.

'But…Giles, that's… you can't blame him for that…' I say desperately, reaching out to grip his shoulder. _Because if you blame him for that, how can you not blame me? _I can't put the thought into coherent words, but somehow, Giles understands. He grasps my hand tightly.

'John, don't even think it. What you did… what happened was not your fault. You made mistakes; I can forgive you for that. What Ethan did was… malicious, and cowardly, and…' his face screws up in anger and he breaks off, and takes another gulp of his whisky, making an obvious effort to calm down.

'He would have killed Buffy to save his own life,' he continues after a moment's silence. 'I can't trust him again, John. Not if it means putting her in danger.'

His hands are shaking. He puts the whisky down clumsily, it clatters on the countertop. Ethan looks up, his eyes narrow with suspicion, but also he seems… hurt. His expression is unguarded, and he seems upset, miserable, and yes, vulnerable. He realises I'm watching him, and looks away quickly.

'We were… so… close,' Giles whispers. 'I thought… I thought I knew him. Christ, John, we shared so much. _I thought I could trust him!_'

His face is twisted unreadable with conflicting emotions. And I… don't know how to react. I'm almost afraid of the strength of his anger. And I can't bear the force of his grief. I grip his hand.

'Ripper, calm down. Now isn't the time. Please,' I whisper urgently

He bows his head, and takes a deep breath. Then he takes off his glasses and wipes them clean, before picking up the half finished glass of whiskey and staring at it for a moment.

'Giles?' I say. He puts the glass down again with a sigh, and a strange half smile.

'You're right,' he says. 'Really not a good idea.' I touch his shoulder.

'You alright?' I ask again, quietly. He shrugs, and then nods.

'Sorry,' he says, loud enough for Ethan to hear.

'It's fine,' I reply. There's more I want to say, but now Ethan's listening to every word.

* * *

I can't sleep.

The harsh rasp of Ethan's heavy breathing is deafeningly loud in the silent room. And I keep imagining that I can hear other things. Footsteps.

It's dark. The wrong sort of dark. Not the comforting cover of pitch blackness, but darkness that is ghostly and pale, where it's still possible to see things crawling in the shadows on the floor.

Ethan fell asleep on the sofa, so I got stuck with a bloody armchair, and I can't get comfortable. Curling up makes my arms and back ache, and if I stretch out, I'm going to go crashing to the floor, and anyway, the blankets aren't bloody big enough. I'm cold. And cramped. And fucking exhausted. My eyes are prickling, and my thoughts are starting to go fuzzy round the edges. Maybe I'll be able to drift off in a minute. I shift miserably and bury my head in my arms.

And then suddenly, for no apparent reason, I'm wide-awake again.

Last night, just before he fell asleep, Ethan murmured to me, 'I don't trust you.' I laughed out loud. Then I sat and stared at him for quite a while. He watched me back, with wary, expectant eyes, obviously waiting for a response.

'Funny. I was just about to say the same thing,' I said eventually. He nodded, sighed and closed his eyes.

I lay awake in the uncomfortable darkness. It was a long time before my mind drifted to the verge of sleep.

And now, suddenly, inexplicably, I'm wide awake again.

No, not inexplicably. Something's… changed. It takes me a moment to work out that I can't hear the regular rasp of Ethan's breaths. I lie very still, and hear him catch his breath. Then he stirs and stretches.

He's awake.

He sits up. Not quite knowing why, I make myself breathe slowly and deeply, pretending to be asleep. There is silence for a long moment.

Suddenly, he's bending over me. I force myself to keep perfectly still.

'Constantine?' he murmurs softly. 'Constantine!'

Just as I'm about to roll over and answer him, he turns away with a sigh of relief.

'Bastard,' I hear him mutter quietly, bitterly.

He walks quietly across the floor. For a while, I can't tell what he's doing. Then I here muffled whispering, and realise with a jolt that he's using Giles' telephone.

'Ethan?' I mumble sleepily. He freezes. 'Ethan? That you?' I say more forcefully.

'Go back to sleep, Constantine,' he says with thinly veiled irritation.

'Can't. Too bloody cold,' I complain.

There's another silence. And then a click as he hangs up the telephone. He comes and sits down heavily on the sofa…

…And suddenly, everything is confused, and dreamlike. I think he's laughing, and then I think he's crying. And then he's kneeling at me feet and I see… or think I see… Giles…

'Ripper!' he says, urgently. 'Ask Ripper! You can't ask me, you see, because I don't know. You have to ask Ripper…'

Ethan's face is covered in blood. I open my mouth to ask him what's happened, who's hurt him, but then I realise that my own hands are covered in blood. Ripper leans over me and grips my shoulders, and I cower away from him. He raises a hand, slowly, gently, almost tenderly, but in a gesture that is nonetheless violent. I cry out, and raise my arms to protect my face, but they are covered in blood, it drips into my eyes, blinding me.

'I don't trust you,' Ethan whispers.

'I don't trust you,' Ripper echoes. He rakes his nails down the side of my face, hard enough to draw blood…

… I wake up with my heart pounding loud in my ears.

And I can't work out how much of it was a dream. The phone call… Ethan in tears at my feet…the blood on my hands… it _all_ seemed so real… and in the cold light of morning, I couldn't swear to any of it.

But I don't trust Ethan. That's the one thing I'm certain of.

The trouble is, I'm not sure I trust myself, either.


	9. Chapter 9

I wake up with Giles' phone shrilling in my ears. Ethan curses and rolls over, burying his face the sofa cushions, and covering his ears. I sit up and stretch, staring stupidly at the phone, wondering if anyone's going to answer it. Giles is nowhere to be seen, and Ethan doesn't look like he's planning on moving any time soon. I swear loudly, and force myself up.

'Wha' d'you want? 's too early in the bloody morning!' I growl sleepily into the phone.

'Is that you Constantine?' a clipped, English voice says with forced politeness. 'Pleasant as always, I see.'

Oh I am such a fucking _idiot_. I've played right into their hands. What's the point in Giles denying I'm here if I answer the friggin telephone?

Because it's him, of course. The Council guy… what's his bloody name? Wilfred, or Quentin, or Albert, or something else equally ridiculously old-fashionedly British. Well, who else would be calling at six o'clock in the morning? Bastard!

'What do you want?' I snarl.

'Well, I _was_ calling to ask Giles if he had any idea of your whereabouts. But that seems to have become fairly redundant,' he says. _That's right, rub it in,_ I think resentfully.

'So what do you want from me?' I say bitterly.

'I'm not at liberty to discuss that at the moment…'

'Oh for fuck's sake!' I cut in angrily.

'No need to swear,' he says pleasantly. I visualise the smug grin and grit my teeth. 'Can I speak with Giles?'

'He's still in bed! It's six o'clock in the morning!'

'No, I'm awake, John,' Giles calls sleepily. 'Just give me a moment.'

I must have woken him. I hadn't realised I was yelling. Giles stumbles sleepily over to me and takes the phone out of my hand. I sit down on the arm of the sofa, and try to make sense of the conversation.

'For gods sake, Quentin, do you realise it's six o'clock in the morning? I'm sure it's not _that_ urgent.' A pause. Giles listens intently, frowning slightly. 'Now why would I lie to you? Of course he wasn't. Yesterday. I said yesterday. Yes, and Ethan too. How the hell did you know that? Of course it matters!' His frown deepens. 'No I will _not_ just shut up for a moment and listen to you. You have no right to… Quentin, I won't just… What do you mean 'a deal'?'

He goes silent, and the person at the other end talks urgently. I lean in close, but I can't make out a word he's saying, and Giles waves me away impatiently.

'Let me listen,' he mouths silently. I nod.

By now, Ethan is sitting up, staring at us both with a strange expression on his face. He catches me watching him, and his face goes carefully blank.

'With _who_?' Giles says, his eyes widening in a mixture of shock and fear. 'What's that got to do with Constantine? You must be joking! Of course I won't… No. I said _no_!'

He falls silent again, and listens intently for a moment, before putting the phone down without another word. He's stopped looking angry, now he's lost in thought, and he looks shell-shocked, and… scared. Whatever it was Quentin just told him, I don't think he wanted to hear it.

'Well. I always knew you were popular, John. But I never realised you were quite _that_ popular,' he says shakily.

'Popular? Giles, I don't understand! What do they want?'

'Well unless I've misunderstood…' he takes off his glasses and cleans them distractedly 'They want to put a stop to evil. All evil. For ever and ever, amen,' he says.

Bloody hell! It's not the answer I was expecting. I want to laugh, but Giles looks deadly serious. In fact, he looks _terrified_.

And I still don't understand what this has got to do with me.

'They think- and please understand that I think they're insane,' Giles continues, 'They think that they can make a deal with the rulers of hell, and put an end to evil. They think that if they can persuade them to shut the gateways between our dimension and theirs, then no more evil will be able to come into the world.'

'And out of hatred and darkness will come peace and harmony and fluffy little bunny rabbits,' Ethan interrupts. 'All right, all right, we get the idea. Why are they so desperate to get their hands on Constantine?'

Giles is looking at me strangely.

'If you're going to try and bargain with the devil, you have to be prepared to give it something it wants. Constantine, you appear to be hell's most wanted.'

I groan and bury my face in my hands. I was right all along… well, almost right. This is nothing to do with Ripper's college days at all. It _is_ because of what I did to The Three. They want my guts after all.

Briefly, I wonder what all this has to do with Ethan. But I suppose the council has their methods. Bastards.

'They want me to hand you over, John,' Giles says quietly. 'They know you're here, and they've given me twenty-four hours to hand you over. If I haven't picked up the phone when the twenty-four hours are up, they'll come and get you by force.'

'Then I should leave…'

'You can't,' Ethan reminds me calmly, smugly even. 'Remember, the only reason those invisible whatsits are leaving you alone is because they've got you exactly where they want you. You take one step outside that door…' he shrugs, an obnoxious grin spreading across his face. 'Well I wouldn't fancy your chances,' he finishes cheerfully.

I shut my eyes.

Ethan's right.

I'm in way over my head this time. I've said that before, haven't I? You're probably getting sick of hearing it. But I don't care.

Because it's true…

I'm dead.

Between the council and The Three I don't have a hope in hell…

* * *

'You're not going to hand me over?' I ask Giles desperately.

'Don't be such an idiot, Constantine!' he says forcefully. 'I wouldn't let the Council get their hands on my worst enemy, let alone you...'

I'm pathetically relieved. And then the guilt kicks in. I'm going to let him do it. I'm going to let him risk himself for me… again.

Because I'm afraid. Because I have no one else to turn to.

I force a grin.

'Are you seriously telling me that if it was Ethan they were after, you wouldn't be handing him over like a shot?' I retort. When he going gets tough, the tough crack bad jokes.

Giles actually laughs.

'Well, maybe if it was _Ethan_…' he says, and then frowns. 'Hang on a second. Where is Ethan?'

'I'm here!' Ethan yells from the kitchen. 'There's no need to be so bloody suspicious. And I heard that, Constantine. It wasn't funny.'

I have to bite my lip from laughing. Then I look up, and Giles is doing the same thing. It's too much. We snigger like children. Ethan scowls furiously.

'Fuck you, Constantine! You know something? I think the world would be a better place without you in it!'

At that moment the doorbell rings.

I don't bother jumping out of my skin. The Council have said we've got twenty-four hours before they do anything drastic. So there's no point being scared of the doorbell. In fact, it's a welcome relief.

It's the Slayer and her friends. The two from before, and a newcomer, a guy with bleached blond hair and a floor-length leather coat. He's hiding under a blanket… it takes me a moment to realise that he must be a vampire, and a moment longer to register that it's an odd thing that the Slayer's not… well, slaying him.

'Are you Constantine, mate?' he says as soon as he's inside out of the sunlight. Giles glares at the Slayer slightly, but the vampire ignores them both.

'Yeah. Who are you?'

'I've got a bone to pick with you!'

Why does everyone always have it in for me, I wonder?

'You'll have to wait your turn. There're bigger demons than _you_ out to get a piece of me,' I snap. He ignores me.

'Did you dust a vamp called Darius?' he asks angrily.

'Not that I remember. What's it to you?'

'He owed me forty quid!'

'Spike!' the slayer growls. 'Now is _not_ the time!'

'Buffy, _why_ did you bring him?' Giles asks in irritation. Buffy shrugs.

'I thought he might be useful. We're going to try and pin down the creature that attacked Ethan and his buddy…' I shudder at the description, '…and see if we can force it to tell us who sent it after them. Willow's got this visibility spell all set up, and…'

'Sorry luv, you're one step behind again,' I tell her. 'We know who sent the invisible things…'

'…and we even know why,' Giles finishes.

'You do?' Buffy says. Giles fills her in. By the time he's finished, she's looking at me strangely.

'Wow! I always knew being popular had its downside!' Xander jokes with a nervous smile.

'Xander!' Giles snaps in exasperation. Spike and Buffy both glare at him, and he looks away awkwardly. Poor kid. He looks like that happens to him a lot, bearing the brunt of other people's annoyance and stress. I'm sorry now for being so irritable with him yesterday, glad I didn't actually snap at him. His awkward attempts at humour seem to be just a way of saying 'please-like-me.' And I do. He seems like a good kid. I flash him a smile.

'We have twenty-four hours until the council come to take him by force,' Giles finishes explaining. 'I don't suppose you have any bright ideas… if we could just buy time…'

Buffy interrupts him.

'So let me get this straight: You're telling me that all the council have to do to put an end to evil is hand _him_ over to hell?' She looks me up and down. 'Giles, I don't mean to sound harsh, but… I think you should do it!'

I choke. She frowns slightly.

'Don't get me wrong, Mr Constantine. I'm not saying that Giles should hand you over… exactly. I'm just saying that if I was given this opportunity… I'd give my life _willingly_ to put a stop to it. I'd be prepared to die. To go to hell. I'd give anything; I'd give _everything_… I- I'm not sure if it's right of you… of us… to fight this. I've devoted my entire life to defeating evil. And now you've been given a chance to destroy it completely… and you're throwing it away…'

Oh god, no! It's a terrible thought, but… I'm scared the girl's right. I've been sitting here trying to figure out ways of getting myself out of this… but maybe… just maybe, I should accept it.

It would be a way to wipe out all the guilt. All the bad things I've ever done, all the mistakes I've ever made, all the deaths I've ever caused, they'd be meaningless against this sacrifice. People would think: John Constantine? He might have been a bit of a bastard, but in the end, he was one of the good guys.

The trouble is… I'm not so sure I _am_ one of the good guys. I mean… I'm not a bad person. I honestly believe I'm not. I know I've made my share of mistakes, but… I've done my share of good, too. I _have_! It's just that… maybe this is asking too much. I'm not sure that I _dare_. I'm _afraid_ to die. And I'm not sure I have the courage to…

Spike's laughing. He's actually laughing. I could punch him. He's trying to say something but he's laughing so hard he can't catch his breath.

'Oh for god's sake, Slayer!' he manages eventually, gasping for breath and trying to suppress his snorts of laughter. 'You honestly think that giving the Big Guy Downstairs a surprise present is gonna make me stop wanting to kill people or hit things? Bloody hell!'

'I hate to say it, but I think Spike's right,' Giles says. 'Not all evil comes from the demon dimensions, Buffy. Some we create for ourselves.'

Buffy is silent for a moment, and then she nods slowly.

'So you are gonna fight this?'

'I _have_ to fight this. If I thought it would do any good… well, that would be another matter. But as it is… I can't hand John over to the council.'


	10. Chapter 10

It's starting to get dark.

We've had almost half of our twenty-four hour truce already, and we're no closer to finding a way out. In about twelve hours and forty five minutes…

…Something's going to happen.

We don't know what. Will they send out the invisible assassins? The police? Will they cast some sort of spell? Not knowing is awful. They're powerful. They're devious. They can probably get their hands on government resources or demonic power with a mere click of their fingers…

… And I almost wish they'd just get on with it. Just about anything would be better than just sitting here worrying, listening to the whinging and the bickering and the speculations. After a while, I just couldn't cope with people anymore. I walked out. Now I'm lying on Giles' bed, staring at the ceiling. I can still hear the arguing downstairs, and I've just about memorised the pattern of cracks on Giles' bedroom walls. I'm so tense, I can tell if this drags out much longer I'm going to do something stupid. What exactly, I don't know. Maybe I'll walk out into the waiting claws of our invisible friends. Maybe I'll punch Ethan so hard I break his jaw.

I guess that's the point, really. It almost like a form of psychological torture. They hope that if they leave me here to stew long enough, eventually I'll get so jumpy that I'll just hand myself in just to get the waiting over and done with.

I never was the patient type.

After a while, there's a slightly tentative knock on the bedroom door. I sigh loudly, and roll over, hunching my back against the door.

'John, are you all right?' Giles calls softly.

'Never been better,' I answer sarcastically. I _hate_ that question. People only ever ask it when you're clearly _not_ all right.

Giles comes in and sits down on the bed. I close my eyes. Whatever it is he has to say, I'm sure I don't want to hear it.

But he doesn't say anything. He sits there in silence. After a while, I sigh and look up at him. He's worried.

'I'm alright, I suppose,' I say eventually. 'I'm not about to drop down dead right this minute, anyway.' I force a smile. 'Are _you_ all right?' I ask, slightly hypocritically. Giles looks almost as tense as I feel. I can't tell whether he's afraid or angry. I don't think he can, either.

'Yeah, I'm fine, John,' he says. 'Although, I think I'm going to _murder_ Ethan,' he adds after a moment's consideration.

'Oh good. Can I join in?'

We both laugh, slightly strained, nervous laughter, but it still releases some of the tension.

Even if only momentarily. Suddenly, the faint sounds of bickering from downstairs have been replaced by confused shouting and the sound of shattering glass. I freeze. The commotion sounds like… fighting.

Me and Giles look at each other nervously, and then he bolts from the room.

'Is everything all right?' he calls. That bloody question _again_! Despite everything, I could almost laugh.

There's a loud crash from downstairs, and suddenly fear courses through me. I jump to my feet. These aren't just the sounds of an argument that's got out of hand.

Someone's screaming.

Bastards! They said they'd give us twenty four-hours. I should have known they were lying.

And I don't know what to do. Just for a moment, self-preservation takes over and I hang back, because above all else, I don't want to be caught. It's not cowardice that I can't bear to face an eternity in hell. It's just common sense.

But a strangled yell from Giles quickly makes up my mind. I run down the stairs two at a time…

* * *

I'm too late.

The door is open, broken off its hinges and hanging crazily. The table's been upturned; books and broken glasses litter the floor.

The Slayer and Ethan are nowhere to be seen. Xander's missing too. Willow's kneeling in the doorway. She looks up at me anxiously.

'Are you all right?' I ask.

'I'm fine. But… Giles…' she says.

Giles is unconscious, slumped against the broken doorframe, one arm thrown up as if to protect his face, the other twisted beneath him.

A hundred thoughts whirl around my mind. I don't understand what's happened… we must have… misunderstood… or, or something… It looks like no one was out to get me after all… It was Ethan they wanted all along, or maybe the Slayer, or… I don't understand… and I don't have time to work it out now…

I kneel down beside Giles, and touch his shoulder gingerly. He stirs and groans.

'Giles?' I say gently.

His eyes snap open and fix on my face.

'John. You're all right…' he says, his voice tinged with both pain and relief.

It's a long time since I last felt quite so guilty.

I get my arm around his shoulders and help him to sit. He closes his eyes and leans his head against my shoulder, his face white with pain. I think his arm's broken.

'I'm sorry,' I say softly. He shakes his head weakly, and then winces.

'Where's Buffy?' I ask Willow.

'I'm here,' the Slayer says quietly, walking slowly in through the ruined doorway. 'It's no good. They've gone…'

Willow rushes over and embraces her. Briefly, Buffy buries her face in her friend's shoulder, and then she comes over and kneels by me and Giles.

'Is he ok?' she asks.

'I think his arm's broken.' I say.

'I'm all right,' Giles insists faintly.

'I can't find Xander,' Buffy says after a moment, almost inaudibly. Then she frowns angrily. 'I don't know how you ever could have trusted him!' she says accusingly.

'Trusted Xander?' I blurt out, confused.

'Trusted _Ethan_!' she snaps.

'I didn't! I don't! I've never bloody have!' I say. I'm really not thinking straight.

Buffy scowls, and looks like she's about to say something, but I interrupt her. Giles is gripping my arm hard, and I can tell he's in pain.

'We need to talk,' I say urgently, 'But I think we'd better get Giles to a hospital first.'

Giles shakes his head, although he doesn't lessen his grip on my arm, and his voice is full of pain.

'Buffy… what's happened to Xander?' he says dimly.

The Slayer's face falls, and she shakes her head.

'He's gone,' she says wretchedly.

'Gone?' I echo stupidly. Buffy glares at me angrily.

'Buffy, he didn't see what happened…' Willow reminds her anxiously. Buffy draws a deep breath.

'Ethan took him,' she says flatly.

* * *

Ethan took him…

I was right not to trust that bastard all along.

Oh god, I'm such an _idiot_. I knew. All this time I _knew_, or at least I suspected, and I didn't say anything.

I never told Giles about that phone call. I was never sure that it had actually happened…

But I _knew_ Ethan was an untrustworthy bastard.

It's all my fault. I should have… should have said something. Should have warned Giles. Should have confronted Ethan. Should have done something…

If he hurts that boy… I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself…

* * *

He'd been after the Slayer, really. He'd grabbed Buffy's arm, and twisted it up behind her. She'd been so bemused she hadn't even bothered reacting. In fact, at the time, I think she found it funny.

Then Ethan looked anxiously at Willow and Xander, and muttered something about informing Giles. Nervously- very nervously- he'd told Buffy that if she came with him quietly, no one would get hurt. Predictably, she'd laughed at him. Also predictably, she'd broken easily out of his grip. He'd sworn, grabbed her top, tried to drag her after him. She'd punched him, in the face, hard- I have to admit, I smiled when I found that out- and then he'd grabbed her hair. She'd kicked the table over struggling to get free of him a second time. That was the crash that had sent Giles running down the stairs.

At the sight of Giles, he'd given up all hope of dragging off the Slayer. He'd made a dash for the door, lashing out at Willow, and then grabbing Xander on the way out, almost as an afterthought. He'd used magic to bar the door behind him, locking Buffy and Giles in. It had been Buffy who'd broken the door off its hinges, trying to force her way out. Once she'd got the door down, she'd chased after Ethan and Xander. Giles had followed after her, furiously angry.

But as soon as Giles had left the house, something had slammed into him. Invisible hands had punched him and beaten him, and finally thrown him through the air, to land unconscious, slumped against the doorframe, one arm twisted and broken beneath him…

Buffy and Willow tell me the story on the way to the hospital. Thankfully, the invisible assassins didn't interfere with us leaving the house. I'm driving Giles' car. He's in the back with Buffy, and I think he might have passed out again…

A while ago, I said that _anything_ would be better than sitting there and going slowly insane waiting for the council to make their move. I was lying. The waiting was the easy part.

All I can think is if Ethan harms that boy in any way… the blood will be on my hands. And I'll have let Giles down again.

* * *

We get back at gone midnight. Giles collapses onto the sofa. He looks awful. His arm is bandaged up, his face is pale, and his mouth is set tight with pain.

But the worst thing is, he looks… guilty.

'I'm sorry, Buffy,' he says miserably, touching the slayer's arm. 'I should never have trusted him. Not again. Not after last time.'

'It's alright,' Buffy says, clearly holding her anger in check. 'You couldn't have known.'

In a sudden show of affection that almost shocks me, they throw their arms around each other. The slayer leans her head against Giles' shoulder, and he strokes her hair with one hand.

'We'll get him back,' he promises.

'Yeah, Buffy,' Willow says with a slightly nervous stutter. 'Xander'll be fine.'

'I know,' the slayer whispers. 'I know, it's just...' She breaks off, and her face hardens. 'Giles, they were after _me_. There has to be something I can do…'

Looks like the slayer's suffering from a healthy dose of guilt, too. Well that makes three of us. Buffy wishes she'd saved Xander. Giles wishes he'd never trusted Ethan. And me… I wish I'd never come to Sunnydale. I was a fool. I've caused nothing but misery to those who were trying to help me… again.

If the boy dies, he'll be coming back to _haunt_ me.

'I'll go after him,' I reassure Giles. But his eyes widen in horror.

'Constantine, no! You don't want to fall into their hands.'

'Giles, I don't think they were ever after me! I think it was the slayer they wanted all along. And… and even if I'm wrong… Buffy's right. We can't just sit here. I'm going to go after him.'

'Constantine, I don't think you should do anything unreasonable,' Buffy says calmly. 'I've fought Ethan before. Xander's my best friend. We can't afford to do anything stupid.'

Giles nods in agreement.

'Buffy's right, John. Try not to be impatient…'

'_I'm_ going after them,' Buffy interrupts loudly. Giles stares at her in dismay.

'Buffy, _no_!' he says urgently. 'Please. The pair of you… just calm down. We don't know what we're dealing with.' His voice is tight with pain and frustration.

'All I know is that they've got Xander,' Buffy says. 'But that's enough!'

'Buffy, you don't even know who _they_ are, or what they want, or even where they've taken him!' Giles says.

'I can find out,' Buffy says, determinedly.

'We could research…' Willow says timidly. I sigh, and Buffy scowls.

'There isn't _time_! Look, for all we know, Ethan's turned him into a demon already…'

The phone rings, and we all jump. Giles doesn't answer it straight away.

'Promise me you won't do anything rash,' he says, looking Buffy straight in the eye. Then his gaze shifts up to include me. 'Both of you. Promise you won't go after him.'

We glance at each other. The phone shrills a second time. Buffy looks away and stares at the floor, and I nod slowly.

'I promise,' I say sincerely.

'Me too,' Buffy murmurs. Giles nods, and turns to answer the phone.

He listens in shocked silence for a moment, gradually turning even paler than before, although I wouldn't have thought it possible.

'Giles?'

'What is it? Is it Ethan?'

Giles doesn't answer. His hand is shaking. Wordlessly, he hands the phone over to me.

'Your time's up, Constantine,' the voice at the other end says. A clipped, English voice, a voice that I was sincerely hoping never to hear again.

I almost drop the phone.

'What! But I… I thought…'

'You thought wrong.'

'I don't understand! Ethan… Xander…'

'Constantine, you're babbling,' Quentin says. He sounds bored.

'That _wasn't_ twenty-four hours!' I say desperately. I almost hear his shrug of dismissal.

'We got tired of waiting,' he says, simply. 'We're coming for you…'

I slam the phone down, angry and afraid, and then I swear, realising that it was a mistake. I should have pumped him for all the information I could... but I'm not thinking straight.

'Constantine?' Buffy says, almost gently.

'They're coming for me,' I say dully.

'It's all right, John,' Giles says. I shake my head.

'I can't stay here. I'm sorry, I thought… but… I'm _sorry_.'

'John…' Giles says, reaching out to touch my shoulder.

'No!' I say forcefully, shaking his hand away. 'Giles, I can't stay. I can't do it. I thought I could let you risk yourself for me, I thought I could use you the way I've used all my other friends… but… somehow… I _can't_. I'm leaving. Don't come after me. I've hurt you enough as it is…'

'John, you _can't_! The assassins…' Giles says desperately, but I break him off.

'The assassins won't touch me. I think… I bloody hope… that they need me alive. If not…' I take a deep breath and shrug, trying but failing to feign nonchalance '…what the hell, it's only dying a bit sooner anyway. I know they'll get me eventually. I think I've known it all along. And I _can't_ drag you down with me.'

I turn to Buffy.

'You asked me when we first met if you could trust me. I couldn't answer you…'

She doesn't let me finish.

'I _do_ trust you,' she says, looking me straight in the eyes.

'Thank you,' I whisper.

I grip Giles' shoulder, hesitate for a moment, and then embrace him. Briefly, he leans his head against my shoulder, and then I pull away, swirl my trench-coat around my shoulders, and disappear into the night.

* * *

They're coming to get me.

I may only have a few hours left to live. But it's all right; because there's only one thing left I have to do.

Find Ethan.

I don't know what it is he wants with the Slayer anymore. It may be just some petty grudge, like the one he holds for me. But even so… if Xander suffers, if he's hurt, if he _dies_, the blood will be on my hands. Even if I'm dead.

So I'm going after him. With a little bit of Constantine-speciality sheer dumb luck, I should have time to rescue him before they come for me.

I'm in over my head.

I'm going to die.

But this time, none of my friends will have to suffer. This time, I did the right thing, and no one will be dragged down with me.

And somehow, it doesn't matter anymore.

Coalitions


	11. Chapter 11

It's cold, and it's dark, and I don't know what I'm doing.

Ethan's good at this. Too bloody good. He hasn't left a single clue. I don't know where he's gone. I don't even know where to start looking.

Instinctively, I stick to the shadows, trying not to be seen. Of course I know that _trying_ to look inconspicuous is like hanging a flashing sign around your neck saying 'Here I am, come and get me!' but I can't help it. I feel safer in the shadows.

I want to put as much distance between myself and Giles as I possibly can.

I want to find Xander before they find me. If nothing else, I want to know how to start looking for somewhere to look.

I want not to die. I want… hell, there are so many things I want.

I want another cigarette. That one at least I can deal with. I light up and puff desperately. I've been chain smoking ever since I left Giles' house; after all, there's no need to worry about bloody lung cancer anymore.

A hand claps down on my shoulder from behind, and I almost drop my cigarette in shock. Without pausing to think, I lash out, slamming my fist into the face of the guy standing behind me.

'Bloody hell, what was that for?' A slightly Americanised cockney accent. Bleached blond hair and a full-length leather jacket. It's Buffy's vampire. I've split his lip. Blood trickles down his chin.

'You crept up behind me! What did you expect me to do?'

He shrugs, wipes at his mouth with his hand.

'I was looking out for you,' he mutters. I throw him an incredulous look. 'Look, I don't think the slayer'd be too pleased to see you dead. What you doing out on your own at this time of night anyway?' he adds sarcastically. 'I thought the forces of hell were after you.'

'They are,' I snap. 'What do you care what the slayer wants anyway?' He scowls and looks away.

'I… don't…' he mutters through gritted teeth.

'You're a liar,' I murmur.

'_You're_ an arsehole,' he retorts. I sigh.

'I don't have time for this.'

'Cos the forces of hell are after you?' he mocks.

'No. Yes. Well, sort of. I have to find Xander,' I explain, without quite knowing why. Suddenly, his eyes flick up to my face.

'Why? What's happened?' he asks quickly, and then tries to look indifferent. 'Not that… not that I care,' he adds awkwardly. I smile inwardly. I think I've found the break I needed.

'Ethan's got him,' I explain.

'That bastard,' Spike mutters.

'I've promised the slayer I'll get him back, but… I don't even know where to start looking,' I admit. 'And I'm running out of time…'

'Cos the forces of hell are after you?' Spike says with a raised eyebrow.

'Something like that,' I say, wearily. 'Look, have you seen him?'

'Xander? No. Not since this morning,' he says, sincerely.

I swear quietly. So much for a lucky break.

But Spike's deep in thought.

'Hang on a second…' he says slowly. 'Ethan… _Ethan_ I _might_ have seen…'

'Really? When? Where? What was he doing?' I ask urgently. Spike looks up at me, his eyes narrowed.

'What's it worth?' he asks.

'I don't have _time_ for this!' I say, warningly.

'All right, all right. It was worth a try,' Spike says. 'He was driving a van down the high street. I think he was heading for one of the disused factories on the edge of town.'

'How do you know that?'

'He's worked from there before, I think,' he says with a shrug. 'Come to think of it, so have I. There's only so many places in Sunnydale where you can carry out an evil plan. I'd say that's your best bet.' I nod.

'Which way?' I ask. He jerks a finger in the right general direction.

'You can't really miss it,' he says.

'Thanks,' I say, turning to follow his gesture.

'Don't mention it,' he mutters. I get the impression he means it literally. I glance back at him over my shoulder, and hurry off in the direction he pointed. Before I've got very far, he calls my name.

'Constantine!'

I turn back to him

'What is it?'

'Look, do you… do you want any help?' he says. 'It's not like I care about Xander or the slayer or anything…' he adds quickly. 'But I haven't got anything better to do…'

I consider, quickly.

'All right. Thanks. Just try not to get in the way…'

* * *

'This'd be a whole lot quicker if we had wheels,' Spike points out. 'Can you hotwire a car? I know Giles can…'

'I can do better than that,' I say with a grin. I put my hand over the lock of the nearest car, which is big and macho and unmistakably American. After a moment's concentration, the door clicks open. Spike tries not to look impressed.

'Hop in,' I say, revving up the engine. 'Who needs mechanics when you've got magic?'

* * *

He directs me to a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of town. It looks like every other derelict warehouse I've ever seen. Seedy and grotty and threatening. Derelict warehouses are universal; they're the same in England and America and Japan probably in Swaziland. The first time I saw a place like this, I thought it had been taken straight out of the set of a Hollywood action adventure movie. Now I know better. It's the other way round, Hollywood uses the scene because it's so common, and so recognisable, and so instantly sinister. The hanging chains from wrecked machinery, the broken glass from smashed windows… it makes me think of torture, and I shudder. Spike, on the other hand, looks right at home.

'Perfect place for the forces of hell to be unleashed, no?' he says with a grin. I glare at him. He rolls his eyes.

There's no sign of life. Still, we're both edgy; on guard despite the bantering, listening out for the slightest sign of trouble. We make our way quietly round to the back of the warehouse. After a moment, he touches my shoulder.

'Constantine…' he says softly. I follow his gaze; he's staring pointedly at a battered van a few feet along the driveway, half hidden behind a pile of rubble.

'Ethan's?' I murmur. He nods.

'He's got Xander here. I'm pretty bloody sure of it,' he says under his breath.

From somewhere within the building comes a noise that might just be a door slamming, but might be something far worse. Instinctively, both me and Spike press close to the wall of the building, trying to keep as silent as possible. The sound of my heartbeat is loud in my ears. Spike catches his breath in a strange sort of half growl. I turn to look at him, and catch back a cry of shock. Something's happened to his face… he shakes his head, as though getting used to seldom used muscles, and then stares back at me with yellow demon's eyes, bearing his fangs in an already familiar grin. Again, the image of Giles' eyes, flaming and dark as something inhuman looked out though them, flashes unwelcome through my mind.

I shake my head. Spike's demon was there all along, but that doesn't make the transformation much less unsettling. He rolls his eyes at me again, as if to say 'Constantine, I'm a bloody _vampire_, of course I have fangs…'

I glare in annoyance, more at myself than him… and then we both freeze as the sound of footsteps begins to echo through the warehouse.

'I don't know what else you expected from me,' a voice mutters. The sound is muffled by the concrete walls, but audible nonetheless.

'That's quite simply not true,' someone replies, sounding almost bored. 'You knew _exactly_ what we expected from it. And you knew what the consequences of failing to provide it would be, too.' There's a sudden whimper of pain, and some hastily stifled cursing. 'I'm sure you can answer for yourself. What _did_ we expect of you?' the second man says viciously. The words are strangely clear, only slightly distorted by the thick walls. There must be a ventilation brick nearby, or something.

'The slayer, or the mage,' the first voice replies dully. 'Bloody bastard Constantine or that stupid bitch of a slayer. But I didn't know how… I don't know why you expected me to be able to…' The speaker breaks off with another yell of pain.

'And if you failed us?'

A sharp intake of breath. A stifled moan, and then loud, ragged breathing.

'If you _failed_ us?'

'Unspeakable… unending… agony. For the… the rest of… my miserable… life… Or something… like that, I seem to… remember…' The voice is almost sarcastic, even through the obvious pain. Beside me, Spike's eyes widen in sudden recognition. I frown at him in confusion. He gestures wildly at me, but I don't understand.

'And did you believe that we'd be unable to deliver that? Is that why you brought us the boy, when we'd asked for the slayer?'

And then suddenly, I recognise the voice too. I bite back a gasp of… of shock, I suppose. And anger. And… and almost… sympathy.

It's Ethan. He must be very close, only just the other side of the wall.

'I… _couldn't_…' he mutters bitterly through clenched teeth. 'The slayer will come for the boy, though! I promise it!' he adds desperately.

'Ensure that she does,' the other voice adds coldly. 'Now get out of here, before I _really_ hurt you.'

More footsteps. I hardly dare breathe as Ethan emerges through the ruined doorway. He passes us by without even noticing, heading towards the half hidden van, muttering curses under his breath. Spike looks at me. I give him a half nod.

He grabs Ethan from behind, silencing him quickly and effectively with a hand over his mouth. Ethan barely even struggles, slumps in his grip, screwing his eyes shut.

'Please…' he mouths, silently, begging, 'Please…'

'Ethan!' I murmur quietly.

His eyes fly open and he stares at me with shock, horror, and finally something that might well be relief flickering across his eyes. New bruises streak his face, and his lip is badly cut.

'Constantine…' he whispers. 'Oh… god…'

For a moment I'm afraid he's going to start crying. Then his face is once again twisted with anger.

'Let me go! They'll _kill_ me, Constantine! Please!'

'Shh! Don't be an idiot, someone'll hear you! Ethan shut _up_!'

He shuts up. I gesture Spike to let him go, and he leans against the wall, breathing hard.

'They were threatening you?' I say, almost gently, but unable to keep the anger and disgust out of my voice. 'That was why?'

He nods.

'Tell me,' I order him.

He groans, and looks away.

'I… I did something stupid,' he whispers. 'Summoned up something I had no hope of controlling. It would have destroyed me. They… they bound it.' He looks up at me. 'I didn't ask them to,' he insists. There's a pause, and then he buries his face in his hands. 'It's only contained,' he continues. 'Not destroyed. They could… they could release it on me any time. It'd kill me.' He breaks off.

'So they're black-mailing you,' I finish for him. 'They sent you after the slayer.' He doesn't answer, but then he really doesn't need to.

'What do they want with Xander?' I ask. He shrugs and grimaces.

'They don't,' he says. My eyes are drawn to his split lip, and I nod slowly.

'Is it me or the slayer that they're after?'

He's silent. 'I don't know,' he says after a moment. 'I thought they'd told Giles the truth over the phone. I thought it was you they were after. But… it was the Slayer they wanted me to take. I don't know why. Maybe they don't want you after all.'

I shake my head.

'I got another phone call,' I say. 'They're still after their pound of flesh from me.'

Ethan shrugs.

'I don't know about that,' he says. Then he looks up desperately. 'You'd better let me go,' he says. 'They… they want me to pass on a message to the Slayer. To tell her they're going to… to torture him. Until she shows up…'

'Ethan don't be a fool!' I interrupt him. 'We guessed it was something like that. Why do you think I'm here? We're not going to let you go that easily. I don't bloody trust you…'

For some reason, Ethan isn't even the slightest bit angered by this. In fact, he's visibly relieved.

'I… I thought you were here for me…' he whispers. His eyes dart from my face to Spike's, and I know what he's thinking: if our positions were switched, he'd kill me without a second thought.

But… he's not worth it. I don't _even_ hate him enough for that. He's pathetic. I almost laugh, and then shake my head. Much as it might once have given me pleasure to rearrange his arrogant, grovelling face, now I don't have time for it. And anyway, there's no sense of justice in kicking a man when he's down.

'No. I'm not one for holding petty grudges,' I say seriously. 'We've come for Xander. You're going to help us.'

Ethan nods reluctantly. Spike snarls in irritation, but I glare it him.

'All right, all right. The more the merrier,' he growls.

'How well do you know the building,' I ask Ethan. He shrugs.

'Well enough.'

'Can we get in? Is there a back entrance?' He nods again, still reluctant.

'Constantine, don't you think…' he says, but I don't let him finish.

'Show us!' I insist. He shrugs, and begins to lead us round the back of the warehouse, to where a flight of flimsy, metal stairs climbs up the side of the building. An emergency exit, leading to a doorway high above our heads.

'I think it must come out on a walk-way, above where they're holding him,' Ethan says. 'I don't know if you'll be able to get down, but you should be able to see…'

'And how do we know that there isn't someone waiting for us on the other side? Someone who'll shoot at your signal?' Spike mutters. Ethan glances over at him, half smiling, half glaring.

'You're just going to have to trust me, aren't you?' he says. 'But I'd have to be pretty certain they were going to shoot to kill, because I'm sure you wouldn't let me live long enough for them to re-load.' Spike seems satisfied by this. And me? I don't trust Ethan one tiny bit. But I'm fairly sure he's not cooperating with whoever it is that has Xander held on the other side of that door. The bruises on his face are proof of that.

I open the door as quietly as possible. It's rusty, hasn't been opened for years, and I hold my breath, certain that everyone must be able to hear the grating of metal on metal. But there's no shouting, no volley of shots, and it only takes a moment before I've got the door open wide enough to see the scene below.

From up here, I can see all of the room below. There're only two other ways in; on the right hand wall, the ruined doorway that Ethan came out from, and opposite us, the main door at the front of the building. Both are guarded by tall, suited men in dark glasses. Five of them watch over the main entrance, opposite us. The door to the right is a slightly less daunting prospect; there, only two men stand to attention.

The fourth wall, the wall to the left, has no door. But it's where the greatest number of people are concentrated.

Xander is chained to the wall, his arms outstretched, his head bowed. So far, it seems like they haven't hurt him; there are no visible marks on his body, anyway. But they've got his shirt ripped off which is never a good sign, and he doesn't seem to be struggling at all, which must mean they've got him scared already.

A man paces in front of him. He's wearing a suit, his eyes shaded with dark glasses. It's not Quentin, I don't think. I only remember his face dimly, but I think he was older than this man, less confident in his movements. Quentin I remember as a bureaucrat, a paper pusher, but this man looks like he's prepared to get his hands dirty. This man looks dangerous.

'I wanted the Slayer,' he says slowly, 'But it looks like I've ended up with the Slayer's puppy…' He's not shouting, not yet, but his voice carries. Behind me, Spike pushes forward, trying to see. I take a step further out onto the walkway, gripping the railings, pressing close against the wall, trying not to cast a shadow on the room below. Spike steps into place in the doorway. I glance back, making sure that Ethan still doesn't having a way of making a dash for it, but Spike is still gripping his arm hard.

'Alexander, the Slayer's puppy!' the man continues. 'Do you think she'll come for you? You'd better hope she does. For both of our sakes…'

'What do you want with her?' Xander asks sullenly, suddenly looking up in defiance. Maybe I was wrong about them having him scared. Suddenly he seems braver than he looks.

The man smiles cruelly at him, and he looks away.

'What do I want with her? You're better off not knowing, Alexander. You wouldn't want to know that rescuing you had condemned your friend to a slow and painful death, now, would you?'

'You couldn't kill Buffy,' Xander says quietly. I can only just make out the words.

'You're probably right,' the man says with a laugh. 'The boy has brains after all!' he says loudly. 'I was lead to believe otherwise. Alexander, the Slayer's harmless, brainless, hopeless sidekick…'

Xander stares at the floor.

'My name's Xander,' he mutters bravely, so quietly that I can hardly hear him at all.

'What did you say?' The man asks incredulously. Xander pales, but keeps going.

'I said my name is _Xander_,' he says, slightly louder. Spike grins at me, impressed despite himself. I can't help admiring the kid's bravery, but I have to admit, I think he's going to make things worse for himself.

'Ah, but you see _I_ am in control of more than you can ever imagine,' the man says dangerously. 'And if say your name is Alexander, then your name is Alexander. If I decide that you are going to be called Alexander, or anything else for that matter… if, say, I decided that from now on the world was going to know you as 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit', then by tomorrow lunchtime at the latest, your driving licence would say 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit', your passport would be in the name of 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit', and your high-school diploma would state that 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit' had achieved the lowest SAT score in the whole of Sunnydale's history. In less than twenty four hours, _everyone_ would be calling you 'Mr Worthless-piece of shit': your friends, your parents, your _girlfriend_… have I forgotten anyone?'

Xander clenches his fists and stares hard at the floor.

'…_yes_…' he mumbles through gritted teeth. The suited guy raises an eyebrow.

'What did you say?' Xander looks up, his eyes suddenly glinting with anger.

'I said _yes_. You have forgotten someone. You've forgotten _Buffy_. See, I _know_ that whoever and whatever else you might control, you sure don't control her, and _she_ knows that my name is _Xander_, and that the only 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit' around here is standing right in front of me…'

The guy in the suit backhands Xander across the face, hard. Xander falls silent, but glares defiantly at him, contempt written all over his face.

'You think you can intimidate me by calling me worthless?' he says suddenly. 'Hell, people have been calling me worthless all my life. And you know something? I've learned not to believe them!'

For a moment, I think the man is going to hit him again, but then he laughs, mirthlessly.

'Bravely said!' he says coldly. He leans in close, and grips Xander's shoulder painfully. 'I can't intimidate you with words, huh?' he says softly, dangerously, still smiling. 'Let's move swiftly on to the next step, then.'

He gestures with on hand, and from out of the shadows in the corner of the room, a man approaches. The knife in his hand catches the light and glints threateningly.

Now Xander does look scared.

'You can't hurt me,' he says desperately. 'I know you can't hurt me. When Buffy comes, if you've touched me at all, she'll… she'll kill you,' he gasps. The words are probably true, but Xander doesn't sound as though he believes them.

'Maybe it's a risk I'm willing to take,' the man says. Xander cringes.

Now the man is holding the knife, touching the point of it to Xander's shoulder. I catch my breath, wanting desperately to look away, but somehow I don't dare.

'Can I hurt you, Alexander? Dare I?'

Xander whimpers, instinctively trying to pull away, but the chains hold him still.

I didn't see him cut, but now there's blood on his chest. Not much, but enough that it must have hurt. And perhaps more importantly, enough to scare him.

'Oh, god…' he whispers. 'Oh god…'

They're so unnecessary, these power games. It's not Xander they want. There's no need for him to suffer. It's just needless cruelty, love of suffering.

And these people think that evil is something found only in the demon-dimensions.

The man begins to play with the knife, throwing it from hand to hand, feinting towards Xander, jabbing at him and pulling back just before the blade connects, making him thrash and struggle.

'Did the Slayer stop me, boy?' he demands. Xander hangs his head. 'Will she stop me from hurting you again? I could slice your throat open with that knife, boy. Do you think the Slayer will stop me from killing you?'

Xander's breathing echoes loudly and painfully through the room. I'm gripping the railings so hard that my knuckles ache. Xander trusts the Slayer to rescue him. Trusts her to show up on time, trusts her to make them stop.

But she's not going to.

Because I said that _I'd_ find him. I said I'd bring him back.

And I don't think I can.

She said she trusted me. But all I can do is watch him suffer.

I thought it was just Ethan I was up against. And Ethan may be a clever bastard, but he's also a coward. Ethan I can deal with.

This… this I'm not so sure I can.

The man puts the knife down, carefully, leaving it so it's still in Xander's line of sight. Xander's gasp of relief is audible. The man glares at him.

'You think I need a knife to hurt you?' he taunts. Xander shudders, but doesn't say anything. The man leans in close, takes Xander's face in his hands.

'Nothing to say?' he mocks. He runs a hand down Xander's neck, drags it painfully across the slash on his chest. Xander flinches and tries not to cry out. The man laughs, and continues to run his hand up Xander's arm, until Xander's hand is caught in his. They are frozen like that for a long moment. Then:

'Imagine if that had been the knife,' the man murmurs. I can imagine it only to clearly, the trail of blood across his shoulder and chest, the muscles in his arm laid bare. It seems that Xander can too; he begins to tremble.

'No…' he mouths, over and over again, desperately. The word makes no sound but I can read it on his lips.

Now the man has Xander's hand caught in both of his. He grips the wrist hard, and Xander's tightly clenched fist is forced to uncurl. Xander turns his face away and screws his eyes shut, perhaps sensing what's coming next.

'Will the Slayer stop it hurting?' the man says harshly.

The crack of a breaking bone is audible even from where I am standing. He must have snapped a finger.

Xander screams.

Without thought, I dash forward. I have to do something, I can't wait and watch any longer. It's a good three-meter drop to the floor below, but I don't care. I have to act.

I get one foot up onto the railings, and then Spike pulls me back.

'Constantine, no!' he hisses. I turn on him wildly.

'Why not? What else am I supposed to do?'

He grabs my arm, my bandaged left arm, suddenly and hard. I stifle a cry of pain.

'That's why not! That's why bloody not! You won't do any good!'

I slump back against the railings. He's fucking right, of course. What's more, I'd have snapped my injured ankle if I'd jumped three meters onto a concrete floor.

'But I can't do nothing!' I say desperately.

'Look, mate, I'm normally the last person to say this, but you can't just act! You've got to think! Come up with some sort of a plan! You can't just go jumping in, you'll just get yourself killed!'

'Keep your voice down,' I say wearily. The sound of our conversation is covered by Xander's ragged sobbing, but there's no need to push our luck. 'I know I ought to think before I act,' I continue. 'But I haven't got any ideas, and I can't bear watching this. I'm an action sort of person, I'm no good a bloody well thinking things through,' I finish in frustration.

'And I'm _really_ Mr Thinker, myself!' Spike snaps sarcastically. 'I still know that jumping in without any _clue_ as to how you're going to get out again is a pretty good way of getting everyone concerned killed!'

'You must be learning, Spike,' a quiet voice says deprecatingly. 'That always used to be exactly your style.'

I turn around so fast that I almost knock into Spike. He grips the railings and stares, not knowing whether to scowl or smile. Ethan swears quietly and buries his face in his hands.

Buffy stands outlined in the doorway, a crossbow in her hands, every inch the Slayer.

'He said you'd come for him,' I say. 'He said if they hurt him, you'd kill them.'

Buffy glances down over the edge of the walkway at Xander, and her eyes soften.

'He was right,' she says.


	12. Chapter 12

Two hundred and eighty eight. . .

Two hundred and eighty nine. . .

Two hundred and ninety. . .

There's still no sign of Buffy or Ethan. Almost five minutes ago – a long, drawn out five minutes, filled with nothing but the sound of Xander's pain – Buffy drew us out of the warehouse and onto the metal staircase where she explained her plan in a hushed whisper. Then her and Ethan slipped off into the darkness, leaving me and Spike to watch proceedings in the warehouse from our vantage point up on the walkway.

Two hundred and ninety two. . .

Two hundred and ninety three. . .

Two hundred and ninety four. . .

It must have been the longest five minutes of Xander's life. His face is bruised, and blood drips down from a cut above his eye, his chest and arms are bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts, and twice now, the room has been filled with the sound of his screaming as the man crushed his broken fingers cruelly between sadistic hands.

Two hundred and ninety six. . .

Two hundred and ninety seven. . .

I'm counting seconds. Mostly just to keep from panicking. To try and keep my breathing slow and my mind occupied, to try and keep from doing anything too stupid too early. . .

Two hundred and ninety nine. . .

Three hundred. . .

Three hundred. Three fucking bloody hundred. What's taking them so long? They've had their five minutes. Where the fuck are they? I hope Buffy has everything under control. I hope to high hell that Ethan doesn't bollocks up this time.

And now I've lost count. Three hundred and four? Five? It doesn't really matter, they've had their five minutes. I'll just give them a count of twenty, then I'll. . .

I'll what? If Buffy's plan falls through, there's nothing I can do. I was helpless before she arrived. And I feel even more helpless now she's gone.

Two. . .

Three. . .

Four. . .

Xander looks like he's on the verge of passing out. The man grabs his hair and jerks his head back savagely, and he whimpers. I look away.

Six. . .

Seven. . .

Where are you, Buffy?

Nine. . .

Ten. . .

And then finally, the door bursts open, and a shout goes up.

'Milton, we've got Ethan here. He says he has to talk to you.'

The man – Milton – lets Xander's head drop. 'Aren't you the lucky boy? Looks like your slayer does love you, after all,' he sneers, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, he turns and grips Ethan by the throat. 'Because there's no way Ethan would come back empty handed a second time, now, is there?' he growls. Ethan lets out a strangled gasp, probably even more shocked by the speed of Milton's movements and the strength of his anger than I am.

'Milton, please. . . ' he chokes. 'For fuck's sake. . . can't breathe. . . Milton, stop!'

As suddenly and violently as he grabbed him, Milton pushes Ethan away. Ethan goes crashing to the floor, clutching at his throat. Milton lets him lie there, coughing and struggling to breathe, for a few moments, and then he grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him to his feet.

'Well?' he says, sounding almost bored again. 'Where is she?'

Ethan's voice is shaking. '. . . won't come. . . not here. . . ' he manages. 'No! No, wait!' he yelps as Milton's hands grip his throat again. Milton relaxes his grasp a little, and Ethan draws a deep, shaky breath. 'She's offered a swap,' he says hoarsely.

'No!' Xander whispers. 'No, please, no. . . ' Milton turns and glares at him.

'She'll give herself up if you'll let Xander go,' Ethan continues quickly and loudly. 'But she won't do it here. It'd be too easy for you to ambush her.'

'True,' Milton says with a vicious grin. 'Smart girl. Where, then?'

'The Bronze,' Ethan says. 'She's waiting there now with her friend, the witch. She'll stay until she sees that you've sent Xander in and that he's all right. Then she'll come out to you.'

Milton snorts derisively.

'Oh no you don't. I've seen this movie before, and it always ends badly. Once she's got Xander safe, why on earth would she come out to me?'

Ethan's eyes dart. He _must_ have been expecting the question, him and Buffy have to have planned out what he's supposed to say. . . but it still seems to make him uncomfortable.

'You have the Bronze surrounded when you send Xander in,' he says dully. 'She'll have to come out eventually, and when she does, you'll be waiting for her.' I catch my breath. That was something Buffy neglected to mention when she outlined this plan to me and Spike. Either that, or Ethan's making it up on the spot and trying to be as uncooperative as possible. Rescuing Xander was never exactly his first priority, perhaps he's trying to get at Buffy just one last time, even as she's helping him out of this hole he's dug himself into. He knows me and Spike are listening. He knows that whatever he tells Milton will be passed straight back to the Slayer. But knowing Ethan, maybe his hunger for revenge outweighs his common sense. He never had much of that in the first place.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid. But god, it's _unbearable_ having to rely on someone I trust less than most of the agents of hell I've had to deal with.

Milton's eyes glint. 'And was that her idea or yours?' he asks. I'm vaguely wondering the same thing myself.

Ethan's eyes flicker again. 'Mine,' he says forcefully. I wonder if he's telling the truth. I wonder whether Buffy knew what he was going to say.

And I seriously fucking hope we can trust him.

Milton stares at Ethan contemptuously for a long moment.

'You know, I don't even _begin_ to trust you,' he says, echoing my thought of moment earlier. I can't work out whether that should make me feel better or not. 'But if that's the best you can do, then I suppose I'll have to deliver the puppy to the Bronze. I tell you what, you can come along for the ride, too. And if I even begin to suspect you of double crossing me, then. . . well, by the time you're through, you'll wish I'd just killed you.'

Ethan begins to grovel, but no one's really listening, not even me or Spike. I heave a sigh of relief. Our biggest fear was that Milton would head for the Bronze alone, leaving Xander here, under guard. Other than discouraging Ethan from saying or doing anything stupid, that was one of the main reasons why me and Spike had stayed at the warehouse rather than going with Buffy to the Bronze; in case breaking Xander out of here turned out to be the only option. At the very least, we hoped to lure off Milton and some of his guards. But it looks like it's turned out better than that. He's going to swallow the bait whole, and take Xander out of here with him.

Milton silences Ethan with a single, threatening gesture, and turns to Xander.

'And _you_ can count yourself lucky, boy. I wasn't even half done playing with you,' he says. 'There're so many toys I didn't have a chance to try out. There aren't even any permanent scars on your pretty face.'

Xander stares miserably at the floor. Milton gestures to one of the men standing by the far wall, who comes hurrying over, carrying something that's at first completely unrecognisable. It takes me a long moment to work out that it's a welding torch. Milton turns up the gas, and a flame begins to glow blue and hot in the darkness. Xander cringes in absolute terror, but Milton laughs.

'No, we don't have time for any of that now. There's no need for you to get so worked up,' he sneers. Then he brings the torch up to the chains, inches away from Xander's bare arms. Xander closes his eyes sets his teeth against the heat, but can't keep from crying out. The skin on his arms is already beginning to blister by the time first one chain and then the other gives out. No longer held to his feet, Xander collapses to the floor. I can tell that his first instinct his to curl up and hide away, but there's six inches of red hot metal chain hanging from his wrists, and he's lucid enough to realise that, so he just lies there, flat out on the concrete floor, sobbing for breath. Milton douses his arms with water – at first it looks almost like a kindness and I don't understand, and then I realise that he wants the chains to be cold enough to handle – and then forces him to stand. He sways on his feet for a moment, and then Milton grabs the chain on one of his wrists, and gestures for Ethan to take the other. He snaps an order for the men guarding the main entrance to remain and secure the premises – and to keep an eye out for the mage, in case he makes an appearance. The rest of his men follow him out of the warehouse. After a moment, I hear the sound of an engine starting up.

Damn. We'd hoped to sabotage their van. Now they've got a head start on us.

Still, that could have been a lot worse. If that's the worst thing to go wrong today, it'll be a miracle.

Beside me, Spike snarls slightly, and shakes off his game face.

'I was hoping for some action,' he complains.

'We'd better hurry up and get down to the Bronze,' I say 'There'll be plenty of action there.'

He nods, and begins to make his way quickly down the metal staircase. 'I think they were all bloody well human, anyway,' he mutters. 'Just my bastard luck. . . '

I'm not sure I understand what he's complaining about now, so I ignore him, and follow him down the stairway.

'I wonder if Buffy told Ethan to say that,' I murmur.

'Say what?'

'About surrounding the building.'

'Oh, that. Constantine, does it really matter?'

'It does if Buffy's not expecting it and they get there before us,' I snap. 'So hurry up!'

He rolls his eyes at me, but starts to move more quickly.

We run down the drive and pile into the car that I left hidden behind one of the wrecked outbuildings, I wave my hand over the ignition, and the engine roars to life. All the time I'm expecting to hear the sounds of shouting, or maybe even shooting, echoing from behind us, but it's seems Milton's men are as deaf as they are cruel.

'Directions!' I hiss at Spike. 'I don't know where the fuck I'm going!'

'Oh. Right. Yeah. Left.'

'What?'

'Left! I said left!'

We scream off down the driveway in a cloud of dust.

'Constantine,' Spike interrupts his own directions after a moment, 'I hate to state the obvious, but _hurry the fuck up_! We're not going to be much help if we get to the Bronze _after_ Milton, and he's had a head start on us. And. . . '

'Tell me something I don't know!' I snap back.

'I was about to! I think we're being followed.'

Oh fuck. I think he's right. I _can_ hear the sounds of pursuit now. Fucking typical. Here's me steering one handed, not knowing where the fuck I'm going, and controlling the damn car with a mixture of magic and sheer bloody-minded will power more than anything else. . . and now there's what sounds like two guys on motorbikes revving up behind us. Just what I needed.

'You fucking drive!' I yell at Spike.

'I can't keep the engine going!'

'Don't worry about the engine, I'll deal with that! Just make sure we don't crash into anything important. And if you can keep us heading in the general direction of the Bronze, that'll be a bonus. . . '

He grabs the wheel from over my shoulder. The car lurches madly, I swear loudly, and scramble over into the back seat. Spike yanks desperately at the steering wheel, and the car jerks wildly across the road, before he manages to slide into the drivers seat and get the thing under some semblance of control.

I stare out of the back windscreen. There're three motorbikes, not two. They must've heard us as we were going down the fire-escape and followed at a distance, leaving the other two to cover the building. Well, we weren't exactly discreet about leaving. I suppose we asked for this one, really. But, oh fuck. . . I don't know what to do. We don't have time for this. . .

Spike turns a sharp corner and I'm thrown against the back windscreen. But when I look up again, they're keeping up with us, following us turn for turn. In fact, they're gaining distance. In a complete panic, I focus all my concentration on the bike in front. . .

. . . The world begins to go white around the edges. There's a sudden explosion. I cry out and bury my face in my hands. Spike swears loudly, and the car swerves from side to side. For a moment, there's nothing but chaos, and then the engine cuts out and there's nothing but darkness. And then, when my vision's cleared slightly, the road behind us is on fire. The first motorbike is gone altogether, nothing remains but smoke and fire. The two behind are smouldering in the wreckage.

'Impressive,' Spike mutters. 'How did you do that?'

'I. . . I must have. . . ' I draw a deep breath, trying to clear my head. 'I don't really know. . . ' I say, slightly shakily. 'I just kind of. . . lashed out. . . and. . . ' I shrug.

'Bang.' Spike finishes for me.

'Yeah. Bang.' I draw another shaky breath. 'Action enough for you?' I say softly.

'Just get the bloody car going, Constantine,' Spike mutters. 'We're going to be too late.'

I wave my hand over the ignition again, and the engine splutters unwillingly back to life. We drive in almost complete silence now, other than Spike's muttered directions, too tense for anything else.

But once we're out on the main road, the tension lifts. Milton's van stands abandoned, the bonnet open, the engine smoking. I heave a sigh of relief. I mean, it's not like pulling out all those wires could have done the thing any good, but the fact that they'd been able to drive it off at all had been a bit of a bummer. Now they're on foot, we have some hope of getting to the bronze ahead of them. Things are looking up. Spike grins at me, I hit the accelerator and we speed off along the darkened road.

* * *

There's still a small stain of what looks suspiciously like my blood on the pavement outside the Bronze, but the skylight seems to have been fixed since last time I was here. Efficient. It's only been, what, two days? Three? Jesus, somehow I find it hard to believe that it was only four days ago at the very most when I first noticed there was something following me. . . Doesn't time fly when you're having fun?

We dump the car. There's no sign of Milton or Ethan yet. Buffy's waiting in the shadows by the main entrance, looking anxious. She can't have been waiting for much longer than ten minutes, but she's already agitated.

'Well?' she snaps.

'He bought it. They're on their way. They should be here any minute now, if nothing else goes wrong. . . '

'Good,' Buffy says with a sigh of relief, and then she frowns slightly. 'All right then, what went wrong?'

'Oh, we had a bit of a problem with their van. And a brush up with some motorbikes. Nothing we couldn't handle.' Spike says.

'Hmmm.' I say, glaring at Spike. 'Buffy, did you tell Ethan to _tell_ them to surround the building?'

Buffy's eyes flash angrily.

'No. Not exactly what I had in mind,' she mutters through gritted teeth. I can't resist throwing Spike an 'I told you so' look. He growls at me.

'Spike!' Buffy snaps. 'Behave yourself or get lost!'

Spike mutters angrily, but backs off. I can't quite stifle a grin.

'Watch it, Constantine,' Spike growls. I ignore him and turn innocently to Buffy.

'Is Willow here yet?' I ask. Buffy nods.

'She's back there. Sorting stuff out.'

'I should go see if she needs help,' I say, and head inside. Spike looks as if he's about to follow me, but Buffy stops him.

'Uh-uh. Not you. You can watch the back door,' she says brightly.

'From the inside,' I remind him, seriously. He glowers at me.

* * *

Willow is sitting under the balcony burning herbs over a candle flame. The thing that really gets me is quite how little attention people are paying her. I know that, given the hellmouth, these people must be pretty used to the weird shit, but there's still something disconcerting about their complete lack of reaction.

'Hey,' Willow says, looking up. 'Are they coming, then?'

'Yeah.'

'Good. That's good.'

'You under control?'

'Yeah. Just about. Of course, it would be better if I could spread the candles more evenly across the whole building, but the dance floor kinda gets in the way. This place wasn't exactly set up for casting spells. . . '

'Can I help?'

'Umm. You could spread this round the perimeter of the room. An even circle about two centimetres wide. . . and you have to chant . . . umm. . . I've got the words written down somewhere, I think. . . '

'I know how to do a magic circle, luv,' I remind her. She blushes.

'Of course you do. Sorry.'

I start to scatter the herbs and sand in a circle around the room. I must look like a bit of an idiot. . . one or two clubbers give me slightly strange looks and one or two more shoot me knowing glances. . . but most just ignore me. Willow tacks pictures of Xander up by all the doors, muttering quietly under her breath all the time.

'Photographs? Don't you have any of his hair? Or nail filings or anything?' I ask as I go past her. She looks slightly put out.

'I – I tend not to collect my friends' toenails,' she says.

'Really? I find stuff like that has a tendency to be unexpectedly useful.' She frowns and shrugs.

'Well, most stuff works just as well with a photo, anyway. Hair and that is. . . pretty old fashioned.'

Great. So now I'm old fashioned. And the worst thing is, I know she's right. When I was her age, lighting your occult candles with a cigarette lighter and mixing up your potions over the electric stove was the height of modern magic. Now, I bet if you know what you're doing, you can download spells over the bloody internet. And one of these days, someone younger than me but just as much of a bloody-minded bastard is going to use that to their advantage. I should have kept up. . .

But that's something to worry about another time. Right now, I just want to get through the rest of the day without anything else going wrong.

'Right, that should do it,' Willow says. 'They can't get in. Only Xander admitted.'

'But can we get out?' I ask. 'Won't that break the circle?'

'No, I thought of that. It's an Amoebus circle, a one-way barrier. And it's not a protection spell, so we're free to leave the circle without breaking it. In fact, it can only be broken by the will of its creator. . . um, that's me. I'd have to chant. . . '

'So we can get out just fine. It's getting _in_ again that would be the problem.'

'Uh. . . yeah, that's about right.'

'And if they really _are_ going to surround the building, we could be here a very long time. . . '

Willow frowns anxiously.

'I'm sure Buffy's thought of something,' she says.

* * *

We don't have long to wait before there's a commotion at the door, like someone's tried to walk through and has been thrown back into the road. Of course it could be just some kid arriving late for a night of clubbing. . . until the shouting starts.

'Well, now you've given yourself away, Constantine! Come out. We need to talk.'

Now, the teenagers who are just here for a good time seem to have finally work out that there's something seriously wrong here tonight. They're edging away from the doors. I fight my way through the crowd towards the sound of the shouting.

'Oh no you don't!' I yell. 'I know the agreement you made. Hand him over.'

'Constantine, I don't know what you're talking about. . . ' the man snaps. 'Stop playing games before we _really_ lose patients with you. . . '

At that moment someone grabs my arm. I pull away, hard. . . but it's only Buffy.

She's glaring at me.

'I thought you said they had Xander with them!' she says angrily.

'They did! They _do_! I saw him. . . ' I say. She shakes her head.

'Well he's not there now!' she snaps.

'I don't understand. . . we _both_ saw him. Milton melted through the chains, and him and Ethan dragged him out. . . '

'Ethan? Ethan was with them?'

'Yeah. Milton didn't trust him enough to leave him. . . why do you ask?'

'Cos he's not there now,' Buffy says flatly.

'Shit.'

We stare at each other in silence for a long minute.

'Where. . . where do you suppose Ethan's taken him?' I ask eventually.

'I don't know.'

'What the hell do you suppose they're after, if the swap's not good enough for them?'

'I don't know.'

'What are we going to do?'

'_I don't know_! I just don't know, Constantine!' She's yelling. She's angry. But she's also upset, and near to tears with worry.

'Oh god. I'm sorry. . . '

She raises a hand and cuts me off. 'Look, I know it's not your fault. You did your best. Just give me a moment to think. . . '

'_Constantine_! Are you listening to me?'

I haven't been. But now that I am. . . there's something odd about the voice. It's not Ethan talking. I've been assuming that it's Milton. But it doesn't sound like his bored, cold tone. This is. . . something else. A voice I recognise from my time in Oxford, all those years ago. . .

And a voice I recognise from a phone conversation at six o'clock this morning.

And suddenly, everything is a thousand times more complicated than I thought it was. And suddenly, I understand.

'_What have you done with Xander_?' Buffy snarls.

'Nothing,' Quentin answers.

'Buffy! Wait! _He never had Xander_!' I yell. . . but it's too late. Buffy's lunged forward to grab his collar. . . and stepped out of the circle. I groan in exasperation and burry my face in my hands. . . and at that moment, there's a commotion at the _other_ door.

Ethan is rejected by the circle and sent flying. But Xander staggers through. No longer forced to stand by his tormentors, he collapses to the floor. Willow rushes over to his side. Buffy's eyes widen, and for a moment she stands frozen, realising her mistake. Then Xander whimpers, and she can't help herself; she runs full speed at the invisible wall. But the power of the circle flings her aside, and she on the concrete floor in a crumpled head. Quentin bends over her.

'Slayer,' he hisses. 'Listen to me!'

Now, Milton's realised that there is no way he can enter the bronze. His guards have tried forcing their way through. . . unsuccessfully, and he's muttered spells and counter-spells. . . with no result.

'You sneaky little _bitch_!' he yells. 'You think a simple spell like _this_ can keep me from getting my hands on you?'

He's right. Willow's magic won't be enough to keep a determined psychopath out for long. I force my way across the room, hoping to keep him busy, to buy Buffy some time at least.

'Well, it seems to have been pretty successful so far!' I yell.

'Constantine? Is that you?'

'Yeah. The one and only.'

'They do say the pull of the hellmouth is pretty hard to resist. I'd heard the rumour that you were in town. I wondered whether you'd get mixed up in this eventually.'

'Well, here I am,' I say. 'What do you want with the Slayer?'

'I'd have thought that would be _obvious_, Constantine. What do people like us ever want?'

I shudder at the phrase. _People like us_. . . I am _nothing_ like you, I think desperately, but I can only hope it's true. Because I _do_ know the answer to his question.

'A little more protection. A little more power,' I mutter.

'Exactly,' Milton says triumphantly. 'Drain the slayer of hers. . . take it for my own. . . and just imagine what I could do, Constantine. Just imagine what I could do. . . '

I _imagine_. . . and I shudder. The image of his knife sliding across Xander's chest, his hands gripping Ethan's throat. . . With Buffy's power. . . he could rule the world with terror and blood. I swallow hard and try to keep my calm.

'Get past a school-girl's magic circle, for one thing,' I say angrily. He scowls.

'True, it's keeping me out, Constantine. Don't think for one minute that that protects you if you don't hand over the Slayer.'

'I _can't_,' I say truthfully. Milton snorts.

'Interesting,' he says softly. 'Can't. Not _won't_. Can't. . . ' He looks at me thoughtfully. 'Tell me one thing, Constantine. Are you really protecting her from me, or do you just want her power for yourself? Because I'd be prepared to strike a deal. . . ' he stops, catching the horrified look on my face. 'Not interested?' he smirks. 'Or perhaps a little too interested for your own comfort?'

I shake my head helplessly.

'I'm not interested. I'm _not_!' Milton smiles.

'I've heard the rumours, Constantine. Hell's after you. Council's after you. I'm offering you a way out. . . '

'No!'

'You're damned already, Constantine. What have you got to lose?'

I freeze. He's right. What _have_ I got to lose?

...Only the one friend who's never abandoned me. Only the kid I've been trying to save. Only the newly won trust of the Slayer.

'More than you'll ever know,' I snarl. He smiles.

'Well, if that's the way you want it. . . ' he says. 'Just remember, the deaths are on your hands, Constantine. I gave you the chance to bargain.'

'Milton, wait!' I yell, but he's turned away, muttering something under his breath.

'No. . . ' Ethan breathes. 'Milton, _no_!'

'What is it? Ethan, _what's he doing_?'

Ethan looks up at me. His face is completely white.

'He's summoning it _here_. . . magic circle won't keep it out. . . ' he says frantically. 'It'll rip the place to pieces. . . '

Milton falls to his knees. There are sparks dancing in the air around him.

'Ethan, _stop him_!' I yell. Ethan stares at me, wild eyed with fear, and then glances at Milton. For an instant, he hesitates. . . and then he runs for it. I swear loudly and violently. Milton's smile broadens, and his chanting intensifies.

I can't let him finish the spell, I _can't_. But my mind is completely blank. Without thinking, without stopping to count the armed guards, without bothering to remember that once I've left the circle I can't get back in again, I throw myself on him, punching his face. I try to pin him to the ground, but he's stronger than he looks, and more sadistic than I could ever be. He grabs my bandaged arm and twists, hard. I cry out. . . and now it's him that's close to pinning me down. At least with us grappling on the floor like this, the guards don't dare shoot me for fear of hitting him.

And at least I've stopped his chanting. For now.

I wrench my arms free, and lash out at him wildly, ineffectively. He laughs, twists, and jerks out of my grasp. I hit my head hard on the concrete floor, and gasp as the world begins to go dim around the edges. No. Can't black out now. Can't let him finish. . .

The air crackles with electricity. I pull myself to my knees, grab his hair, and jerk his head back. Again the spell falters, but he this time he lashes out and sends me flying. I hit the invisible wall of the magic circle, and am thrown back. I land on my knees, gasping for breath, almost sobbing with pain. Again, I force myself up.

'You're a persistent bugger,' Milton whispers. 'I didn't want to have to hurt you, Constantine, but. . . ' He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath. He doesn't even have to touch me; all I can do is curl up and scream. It feels like my skin is being ripped off by something with blunt claws. After a while, it wears off slightly, and I collapse to the floor, sobbing for breath, barely conscious. Can't black out. . . got to do something. . . something important. . . I force my eyes open. The world spins, and I groan. Got to. . . got to stop something. Something important. . . can't black out. Not now. Can't.

The sound of Buffy's feet pounding on the concrete as she runs up behind us rings loud in my ears. I hope desperately that she'll be able to stop Milton where I failed. . . but then the last few words of a summoning spell pierce through the fog in my brain, and a cold shiver runs down my spine. There's a roaring in my ears which is nothing to do with the pain. That was. . . I was supposed to stop. . . oh god, I'm too late. . .

From somewhere far away, Buffy is shouting.

'Will, break the circle! Willow, let me in! Break the circle!'

More chanting. . . . I was supposed to stop the chanting. . . Screaming.

'No. . . ' I murmur weakly.

'Willow, hurry up!'

'I'm trying, Buffy! I'm trying! I can't. . . I don't understand. . . it's not working. . . '

More screaming. A horrible, gurgling sound. Shouting. Sobbing.

'Willow!'

More chanting. It's. . . it's Willow chanting. I don't understand. I was supposed to stop the chanting. . . unless. . . no, that was Milton. What's Willow doing? I know it's important, but it all seems so far away.

I try desperately to concentrate. The magic circle. She has to break it. To let Buffy in. Because. . . because I was too late. And Milton summoned something. And it's in there, inside the magic circle, and Buffy can't get to it. Willow's chanting to break the circle. Because she created it. She's the only one who can break it. . .

Buffy's pounding on the wall with her fists.

'Please, Will! Willow, please!'

The chanting's getting desperate.

. . . Because. . . because she didn't create it, did she? I did. It was me. . . I made the circle. . . spread the herbs and the sand. . . walked the perimeter of the room. Wasn't Willow that did it. It was me. I created the circle.

So only I can break it.

I've got to let Buffy in. Can't. . . can't remember the words. I shake my head, trying to clear it. My mouth is so dry. I cough weakly, and swallow hard. Got to break the circle. Got to say the words.

I stammer over them, stumbling, barely remembering them at all, choking, gasping, faltering. My voice is hoarse and cracked, my tongue is swollen, and my head is spinning so badly that I can't see.

'Constantine?' Buffy murmurs anxiously

I gasp out the last few words, and she staggers through the invisible walls of the circle.

And then everything is chaos. And then everything is blackness.

* * *

'Constantine! Oy, Constantine!'

I groan and open my eyes. For a brief moment everything is agony and I think I'm going to pass out again. Then the pain subsides to a bearable level, and I blink and try to get my eyes to focus.

Someone's kneeling over me. At first I think it's Buffy, and then I think it's Giles. . . and then my eyes come back into focus slightly, and I realise it's Spike.

He looks terrible. He's got a black eye and a bloody nose and a deep scratch down one side of his face.

'Wha' the hell happened to you?' I manage. He snorts.

'_I _was stuck _inside_ the magic circle with that thing,' he reminds me bitterly. I close my eyes and swallow hard.

'You said you wanted some action. . . ' I murmur. He rolls his eyes.

'Can you stand?' he asks. I grimace.

'Dunno.' I struggle to sit up, but a flash of blinding pain in my head forces me to give up the effort. 'Don't think so,' I say through gritted teeth. My head is pounding, and I swallow hard to keep from throwing up.

'I'll get Buffy.' He turns to go.

'Wait!' I call.

'What is it?'

'Xander? Is he alright?'

'He's been better.'

'Was anyone hurt?'

'Not too badly. I had it under control.'

'And Milton?'

'Quentin's got him.'

That sentence might have made more sense if my head was spinning slightly less. Quentin. . . and Milton. . . . they weren't working together. There were two _different_ groups out to get me. . . I mean. . . was me they were after? I don't bother trying to work it out now. Spike turns to go again.

'Spike! One more thing. . . ' He raises a questioning eyebrow. 'Tell her. . . remind her. . . no hospitals.'

Spike nods, and wanders off without saying another word. And it's only after he's gone that I realise that although we were all trapped _outside_ the circle there was nothing on earth keeping him _in_ other than whatever passes for his conscience. Vampire he may be, I think, but heartless bastard he isn't. I smile, but it turns into a grimace of pain.

* * *

The next time I come to, it's in the back of the car that me and Spike nicked earlier. Spike's driving. I don't know how the hell he got the engine started. Xander's in the seat next to me, and he actually looks a whole lot better than I feel. He's cradling his broken fingers, and he looks a bit knocked about, and justifiably slightly freaked, but mostly what he looks is relieved.

'Hey, you're awake,' he says.

'Yeah.' He smiles awkwardly.

'Thanks for the rescue,' he says.

'You're welcome. Don't mention it.'

'It was you who took the circle down,' Willow says.

'Yeah.'

'How did you _do_ it? It shouldn't have been possible! Only the circle's creator. . . '

'That was me. I created the circle.' She still looks confused. 'You said the words,' I explain. 'But I was the one who physically _made_ the circle.'

'Of course!' She looks cross with herself for not having worked that out sooner.

'And you figured that out with the concussion?' Spike asks incredulously.

'Yeah.'

'Well. I'm impressed,' he mutters.

'What happened to Ethan?' Buffy asks suddenly. I shrug, and then wish I hadn't.

'He ran. He got away. I couldn't stop him.' She nods.

'It was brave of you to try and stop Milton,' she says.

'Stupid,' I mutter. 'Jumped in without a plan. Got beaten up.'

'Bought us some _time_,' Buffy says. 'I needed it, John. Thank you.'

I manage a smile.

* * *

'There were two separate groups of them,' Buffy explains to Giles, later. Willow's taken Xander down to the hospital to have his fingers set, and Spike's gone back to his crypt (with what looked like quite a substantial reward), and I'm sitting on Giles' sofa again, washing down aspirin with another mug of tea. 'Quentin and the council were after Constantine. It was like you said. . . they wanted to make some deal with the rulers of hell.'

Giles pulls a face. I grin at him.

'But Ethan was working for Milton,' I say. 'And he was just out for himself. He wanted Buffy. He wanted to drain her power and use it for his own purposes, like you would with some demon you'd summoned from another plain.'

'Milton _does_ work for the council,' Buffy fills in. 'But I don't think they had any idea what he was doing.'

'Ethan was being blackmailed,' I tell them. I don't think that Buffy knows that yet either. 'Milton had control over some demon he'd summoned, and he was threatening to let it loose on him if he didn't cooperate.'

'Yes. Well. That explains a lot,' Giles says.

'So it ended up with all of us. . . '

'. . . except Spike. . . '

'. . . All of us except Spike, trapped outside the Bronze,' Buffy says. 'Couldn't get past our own magic circle. And Milton summoned the demon inside the magic circle, when John wouldn't hand me over. But him and Spike bought me enough to sort out a deal with Quentin. John broke the circle, and Quentin helped me contain the demon.'

'And here we all are,' I finish cheerfully. Aspirin and tea have helped more than I would have thought possible. And I wonder if Buffy knows how much it means to me that she's calling me by my name.

Giles smiles at me vaguely, and then looks over at Buffy.

'Just out of interest,' he says. 'What sort of a deal _did_ you strike up with Quentin?'

'Well, I told him what Milton had done to Xander and I said what you said before, about how not all evil comes from the demon dimensions. I told him that I wouldn't hand over John, and even if I did, he wouldn't be able to rid the world of evil. I reminded him that I was no longer working for the council and that they had no control over me. And then I told him that if he helped me stop Milton and then went away and never interfered with me again, then I wouldn't kick his ass.'

'Oh. I see,' Giles says weakly.

I'd been vaguely dreading spending another night on Giles' sofa, but I sleep more soundly than I have done in a very long time.

In my dreams, Ripper kneels beside me, and whispers words that I can barely hear or understand.

'Giles knows,' he tells me. 'Giles knows the answers too. You just have to ask him.'

'. . . I can't. . . ' I whisper. I look down at my hands, expecting to see blood. . . but they're mercifully clean.

Ripper smiles, and takes my hands. 'When you're ready, John,' he murmurs.

Xander locks his big, brown puppy-dog eyes on mine. 'I trust you,' he whispers.

'I trust you,' Ripper echoes. 'So does Giles.

And Spike reaches down and takes my hand.

'Can you stand?' he asks.

'I don't know.' He looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

'You don't know?' He shrugs. 'I'm damned too, you know. Hell, I don't even have a _soul_. But it doesn't mean anything. I'm still. . . '

'. . . one of the good-guys,' Buffy finishes. She touches Spike's face, and then reaches out and takes my other hand.

'No,' I mutter. 'You don't understand. . . I. . . there's things I've. . . _you don't understand_. . . '

'I think I do,' she says gently. 'You could ask Giles,' she adds.

'No,' I say, more softly. 'No, I don't think I can. . . ' She shrugs.

'Can you stand?' she whispers.

'I. . . I think so,' I murmur.

I wake up in the warm darkness, stiff and uncomfortable. The nightmares might have gone, but sleeping on Giles' sofa has _still_ given me a crick in my neck. . .

* * *

'You won't stay another few days?' Giles asks.

'No. You see, I left London in a bit of a hurry, and. . . well, there's stuff that I ought to sort out. People I ought to see. That sort of thing.'

'I thought you'd say that,' Giles says.

'I'm a busy man. It's not easy being hell's most wanted. . . '

Giles grins. 'You always were a cocky little sod,' he says. 'All right then, off you go. But you'd better drop by sometime when neither of us is in imminent danger.' I laugh, and his eyes sparkle. Then he claps his hand on my shoulder, and says, suddenly serious, 'I love you, you bastard. Take care now.'

I clasp his hand in silence for a long moment.

He's still watching me from the doorway as I make my way down the road. I light a cigarette, and I turn up the collar of my trench coat.

And I don't look back. . . .


End file.
